


Enough of Feeling Like This

by unfolded73



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Binge Drinking, Coming Out, F/M, Future Fic, Married Life, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Smut, Storybrooke, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-20 09:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13714827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: Many years after peace settles in Storybrooke, a struggle with drinking threatens Killian's happy ending with his family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _I’m an alcoholic, I don’t have one drink. I don’t understand people who have one drink. I don’t understand people who leave half a glass of wine on the table. I don’t understand people who say they’ve had enough. How can you have enough of feeling like this? – Leo McGarry, The West Wing_
> 
> Okay, three things. One, happy endings are cool and all, but they are mostly where the fun part of telling the story ends. Not that I don’t like fluff to a point, but one cannot live on fluff alone. Two, ever since the show started dealing so sensitively with Rogers’ alcoholism after so very much not having done so with original!Killian, me writing this probably became inevitable. Three, finally some of my ideas for Maureen Swan-Jones that I came up with two years ago have found a home.
> 
> **This story includes depictions of alcoholism, alcohol abuse, binge drinking, you name it. Heed the trigger warnings if you need to.**
> 
> Rated E, eventually. Beta’d by who else? @j-philly-b.

“This looks like an… interesting meal,” Killian said as he seated himself at the Charming’s dining room table, his wife beside him. “Are you expecting more guests? Say, twenty or thirty more guests?” Maureen, his fourteen-year-old daughter at the end of the table, snorted quietly. A fall of mostly brown hair (save the bottom two inches, which were tipped in fading blue dye) shielded her face from the adults.

“Sorry, sorry, I decided to clean out the deep freezer,” Snow said as she bustled in and set yet another serving dish on the table for their semi-regular Sunday family dinner. The dining room in the Charming’s farmhouse was warm and familiar, the site of many family gatherings over the years since they’d moved here. Killian met David’s gaze and shared a small smile with him across the heaps of food.

“Is that why we’re having pork ribs with a side of lamb chops?” Emma asked. “And a metric ton of peas?” She picked up the huge bowl, put a spoonful of peas on her plate, and passed it to Killian. 

“Yeah, I had way too many peas,” Snow said, wincing. “Sorry again.”

“I’m sure it will all be delicious,” Killian said diplomatically. “Take some peas, Maureen,” he added to his daughter when she tried to pass the dish on to her grandfather without taking any. With an eye roll, she complied. 

“Neal called this week,” Snow said as she pushed more serving plates toward her daughter and son-in-law. 

“To ask for money?” Emma asked.

“Not _just_ to ask for money,” Snow replied, which scored her a sardonic smile from Emma. “He also told us he’s really enjoying that philosophy class.”

“The one that focuses on those depressed French blokes?” Killian asked. Emma’s brother was in his second year in college out in the real world, away from the protective confines of Storybrooke. On top of that, he had elected to go to a school that was far enough away that they hadn’t seen him since the Christmas holidays, nearly four months ago.

“Existentialists, Dad,” Maureen said.

“And he mentioned that he’s still seeing that girl from South Carolina,” David said as he wiped barbeque sauce from his mouth. 

“What was her name again?” Emma asked. “Brittany? Tiffany?”

“Bethany,” Snow said. 

“Wow, that must be getting serious. I wonder what he’s told her about his family,” Emma said.

Snow frowned. “Nothing about the Enchanted Forest or magic, if that’s what you’re referring to. To be honest, I’m not sure how to advise him on that.”

His wife met his eyes as she tucked a lock of her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ear. She’d recently dyed it blonde again after an experiment with red. Although he always thought she was beautiful, he hadn’t been all that fond of the red hair, if he was honest. Of course, he’d never told Emma that. 

“Yeah, most people would think he was crazy,” Emma said. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Is advising people on talking to outsiders part of your professional portfolio?” David asked.

“It is, actually.” When Neal had applied to colleges, Emma had used her unique combination of magic and computer skills to create the records and digital trail they would need in order for Neal to be admitted to a school in the non-magical world. It had made her realize that a lot of Storybrooke’s residents needed a similar service. More and more children were growing up and leaving home, and at the same time, some of the aging Enchanted Forest residents were being drawn toward warmer climates in which to spend their twilight years. Meanwhile, there were still occasional immigrants to Storybrooke who came via portal, having heard tales of the technological marvels of this land. It turned into a full-time job for Emma, part counselor, part document forger, part financial advisor. As a result, when her fifth term as sheriff came to an end last year, she’d decided not to run again. Instead, Killian had run unopposed for the office. Captain Hook was now Sheriff of Storybrooke.

“So I haven’t asked yet, but I have to know,” David said, tapping Maureen on the hand to get her attention. “When did _this_ happen?” He pointed at her face, or more specifically her nose, where a tiny diamond stud sat just above the flare of her nostril. Killian saw Maureen’s shoulders tense in reaction to David’s scrutiny.

“I got it done last weekend,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes on her dinner plate.

David arched an eyebrow at Emma, who shrugged. “She’d been asking for months, so we figured she was serious about it. I think it looks good on her.”

“She’d look more of a proper pirate with a gold hoop, though,” Killian said, giving his daughter a grin. Maureen rolled her eyes again in response, although he detected a tiny quirk of her lips.

“Just don’t get any tattoos, young lady,” David said. “Not until you’re at least eighteen.”

Emma snorted. “How old do you think I was when I got this?” she asked, raising her wrist to indicate the fading buttercup tattoo. 

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you all about,” Snow said, firmly changing the subject. “As you know, we have our twentieth annual Storybrooke Fair coming up in a few months.”

“Has it really been twenty years?” Emma asked. The Storybrooke Fair had been Snow’s brainchild, started a couple of years after peace had finally settled in Storybrooke for good, while Regina was in charge. With Snow White as mayor, the fair had gotten bigger and more elaborate each year. 

“Yep, and I was thinking that we needed to do something really special this year.”

Killian was certain Snow said that every year, but he smiled at her nonetheless. “Such as?”

“Such as a ball. A real, honest-to-goodness ball with formal gowns, musicians, a feast, dancing… What do you think?”

Emma shot Killian another glance. “I don’t know, Mom, a ball? How many people in Storybrooke these days know how to do that kind of dancing? Or even own ball gowns?”

“Fifteen percent of the current population only came here to Storybrooke within the last few years, Emma,” Snow chided.

“Yeah, and at least twice that number are people who grew up here, living entirely modern lives.”

“So we’ll order the ball gowns. And we can offer dancing lessons at the community center.” Snow grinned widely, her eyes on her granddaughter. “I’ll admit, I do have an ulterior motive.”

Killian could sense where this was going and he knew he needed to warn Snow away, but he didn’t know how. 

“What ulterior motive?” David asked.

Snow gestured to Maureen. “Maureen, of course! She’ll be turning fifteen, so the ball can be her official debut! After all, she is a princess of Misthaven like her mother. And we never got to have a formal debut for Emma, so—”

“Wait, what?” Maureen said, looking wide-eyed at the adults around the table. “No way.”

“Oh, I know, it may not seem like something you would like now, but trust me. A lovely dress and a handsome boy on your arm, and you’ll change your mind.”

Killian could feel his daughter bristling. “Pretty sure I won’t,” Maureen said, setting down her fork. “May I be excused?”

“You hardly ate,” Emma said.

“I’m not hungry. May I be excused?”

“It’s fine, love, go ahead,” Killian said, not wanting this to turn into an argument. 

She pushed back from the table, picked up her plate, and carried it to the kitchen, her back stiff as a metal rod. 

“Sorry, Mom,” Emma sighed. “She’s just… moody.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure she’ll come around,” Snow said, apparently completely undeterred by Maureen’s reaction to the idea of the ball. Killian wasn’t so sure she would, but he kept his mouth shut. He reached for his water glass, wishing it was rum, and then focused on his meal.

“She’s a little young to be getting her nose pierced, isn’t she?” Snow asked.

“You’re the one who’s got her falling in love at this ball of yours,” Emma said. Killian was amused at the way his wife had come around on the nose piercing. When Maureen had first asked for it, Emma had said the same thing Snow was now saying. They’d fought about it several times before Emma finally gave in. 

“What do you hear from Henry and Ella?” David asked.

“All good things,” Emma said. “Henry sent the first draft of the new book off to his editor last week, and Ella and Tiana have a whole fleet of food trucks all over Seattle.”

“They really are settled in Seattle for good, aren’t they?” Snow said with a frown. “I was holding out hope that they might come live here in Storybrooke, near family. Or at least not three thousand miles away.”

Emma sighed. “They like the city.”

“Maine has cities,” Snow argued. “And Boston isn’t far. They could at least move closer so that we would get to see them more often.”

Killian could feel frustration rolling off of Emma, and he sympathized with the fact that she was being put in the position to defend her children’s decisions. He took his wife’s hand and spoke up. “It may have been a curse that brought them there like a curse brought you here, but it doesn’t mean they haven’t put down roots. They have ties to the community.”

“Henry’s wife is a lot like you, Mom. She’s a leader,” Emma said. “She’s even thinking about running for city council because even with her evil stepmother gone, they are still dealing with some of the same issues in that neighborhood: affordable housing, the need for good-paying jobs…”

Snow sighed. “Okay, I get it. Well, maybe I’ll give them a call and see if they can fly out for the weekend of the fair.”

“Good idea, sweetheart,” David said as he leaned back in his chair and away from his plate of denuded bones. “Oof, I ate too much.”

Maureen spent the rest of the visit curled up on the sofa, texting rapidly to someone on her phone. As soon as he could without seeming impolite, Killian commented that they all had to be up early for work, and once Snow had loaded them down with several plastic containers of leftovers, they said their goodbyes and left.

As Killian reversed the car out of the driveway, Emma turned around to her daughter in the back seat. “I’m gonna need you to be a little more polite to your grandparents next time, please.”

“They insulted my piercing—”

“No they didn’t—” Emma tried to interrupt.

“And then Grandma wants to put me in a big poofy ball gown to dance around like an idiot? I’m not doing that.”

“Grandma came from a place where balls were a really big deal. I used to feel the same way you do, but then when I found myself at a ball with your dad—”

Maureen groaned loudly. “Mom, I know the story, you don’t have to tell me the same fucking story—”

“Language, young lady,” Killian said, glaring at his daughter in the rearview mirror.

“You can’t make me go to a ball.” She leaned back against the seat and folded her arms. 

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’ll talk about it later.”

The rest of the car ride passed in icy silence. A memory suddenly popped into Killian’s head of Maureen sitting in her car seat and pointing out the window at everything she saw. _A mailbox!_ she would cry. _A fire hydrant!_ Everything was a joyful new discovery to be made. 

As soon as they pulled up in front of the house, Maureen had the door open and was running up the sidewalk to the front door. “Next she’ll be opening the car door while we’re still moving and hitting the pavement at twenty miles an hour to get away from us faster,” Emma grumbled.

Killian leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek before following his daughter into the house, his arms loaded down with leftovers. There were at least two large containers of peas; it would take months to get his wife and daughter to eat that many peas.

“Thanks for your help with carrying the food,” Emma snarked at the back of her daughter’s head. Maureen had flopped onto the sofa in the living room, already glued to her phone again. 

“Sorry,” Maureen responded, not looking up.

“Have you finished your homework?”

“Yeah.”

Emma seemed unable or unwilling to stop herself from picking at her daughter like a scab she couldn’t leave alone. “Are you sure, because don’t you have a math test coming up soon?”

“It’s fine, Mom, I’m on top of it. You don’t have to treat me like a child.”

Killian put the last of the leftovers in the fridge and reached for the half-full bottle of rum on the counter, pouring himself a generous splash.

“I wouldn’t treat you like a child if you didn’t act like a child,” Emma said. 

With a huff, Maureen propelled herself off the sofa and stomped up the stairs. They heard the door slam a few seconds later. 

“The next time you slam that door, I’m grounding you!” Emma shouted.

Killian swallowed the rum quickly and refilled it. “You can’t let her push your buttons so easily, love,” he said without looking up from the amber liquid swirling in his heavy crystal tumbler.

He heard Emma sigh. “I know. You’re right, but she makes me furious when she acts like she doesn’t give a shit about anyone.”

Turning around, he gave her a half-smile. “It’s not that she doesn’t ‘give a shit,’ you know that, she’s just a miasma of hormones. She feels everything very deeply.”

Emma walked over and gave him a kiss on the lips. “You’re right. I’ll try to be more patient.” She took his hand. “Coming to bed?”

“In a few minutes, love.”

“Okay.” He watched Emma mount the stairs, her hips swaying slightly as she walked. With a heavy sigh, Killian picked up his bottle of rum and made his way toward the back of the house. Letting himself out onto the back porch, he settled into a rocking chair. The night was chilly, but being able to look up at the stars calmed him, and the rum gave him a false sense of warmth that made it easier to ignore the wind that blew in from the direction of the ocean. He refilled his glass, setting the rum bottle on the floor and propping his feet up on the porch railing.

For the longest time, he’d felt that he and Maureen had been on the same wavelength. Even as a baby, he could sometimes get her to stop fussing just by looking into her eyes, communicating with her on some deeper level that even Emma couldn’t reach. When she was a toddler, he was always the favored parent. She had run to Emma when she had hurt herself, seeking the healing touch of her mother’s magic, but she had run to him when she was frightened or sad or excited, words spilling out so quickly that he could scarcely understand them. 

Maybe things had started to change when she was ten, when she learned that he’d been a villain who had killed his own father. But in any case, puberty had made her even more distant, and the connection they’d shared now seemed broken forever. Yes, she fought more with Emma, terrible shouting matches that sent him retreating into his den to escape the storm clouds of anger. But as volatile as their relationship had gotten at times, his wife and his daughter still talked. Maureen still confided in Emma occasionally; he’d hear them whispering together behind his daughter’s closed bedroom door. Later he would ask Emma what they talked about, and it was usually some social difficulty: a friend at school who had suddenly said unkind things to her, for example. 

He hated how jealous he was of Emma for even those brief moments of connection with their daughter. Maureen was becoming a stranger to him, and he had no idea what to do to change that. He had no idea if he even should; maybe he’d reached the limit of his abilities as a parent and she was better off with him as a somewhat removed presence in her life.

He used to think, back when Henry lived with them, that parenting a teenager was a strength of his. But he and Henry had always had a particular connection, and perhaps it misled him into thinking he was a better parent than he actually was. Or perhaps he’d been a good parent once, before waking up in the morning became a little bit harder, before he’d started to feel his age quite so keenly. 

Killian didn’t know how long he stayed out on the porch, but when he finally noticed the way the cold had settled into his bones and numbed his fingers, his rum bottle was empty. Standing with a groan at the ache in his back, he detoured to the shed to throw the empty bottle in the recycling bin before letting himself back into the house. 

As he made his way up the stairs, he bumped into the wall, almost knocking a school picture of Maureen down. He grabbed it, carefully adjusting its angle, then gripped the banister and continued to climb the steps more cautiously. 

Emma was asleep, burrowed under the blankets with only the top of her head exposed. Killian undressed, collapsing into bed and letting the alcohol pull him into a fitful sleep.

~*~

Emma’s alarm sounded and she reached out quickly, waving her hand over the phone to silence it. She sat up, noticing that Killian still slept, his gentle snores filling the room. He’d let his hair, now flecked with gray, grow a little longer lately and it swept down over his forehead, almost covering his eyes.

“Babe, you were supposed to be up a half hour ago,” she said, pushing on his shoulder. “Wake up.”

He groaned, rolling away from her, and then finally pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed as she left the bedroom to wake Maureen. 

Killian used to be such a consistent early riser that Emma didn’t have to set an alarm most of the time. She could count on her husband to wake up with the sun’s first light, and to have a steaming cup of coffee ready for her when it was time for her to get up. Those days seemed long gone; lately, Emma had to shake her husband awake for him to make it into the sheriff’s station anywhere close to on time.

Emma opened her daughter’s door and flipped the light switch. “Time to get up, Maureen!”

There was no response, but Emma didn’t expect one, not on the first try. It usually took three tries before she even got a groan out of her daughter, much less an indication that she was actually going to get up.

Continuing to stand in the hall, Emma browsed her phone while she waited. “Come on, baby, up and at ‘em,” she said as she scrolled through the news. 

“I’ve got a stomach ache,” Maureen moaned from her prone position in the bed.

“No, you don’t, you’re fine. Go get in the shower.”

Her daughter sat up, her brown and blue hair a tangled cloud around her head. “If I go to school today, I’m gonna end up puking at school.”

“Well, then you’ll puke at school. Go get in the shower.”

With another groan, Maureen staggered to her feet and lurched over to the pile of laundry in the corner of her room, digging through it for something to wear. With a shake of her head, Emma left her to it and returned to her bedroom to start getting ready for her own day. 

The bathroom door was closed and the shower was running, so at least Killian was up and moving. Emma laid out some clothes for herself and then went down to the kitchen to start the coffee while she waited for her turn in the shower. 

It was a morning like any other: three bodies going about their routines with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Maureen made one more attempt to plead illness, but Emma was implacable in the face of her daughter’s complaints, putting a bagel in her hand and shooing her out the door. Killian grabbed a cup of coffee and his car keys, kissing her on the cheek quickly before he too was gone. The house echoed with the silence of their absence, and something about it made Emma shiver suddenly. With a shake of her head at that odd reaction, she gathered up her purse and her packed lunch and made her way down to her car, parked in front of the house.

The yellow Bug had finally died a few years before. She’d had every part in it replaced three times over, but finally, she had to admit that it wasn’t worth the money to keep it running. Laying it to rest had been difficult, and even though she knew it was just a car, she had cried real tears when she walked away from it for the last time. The little compact SUV (not yellow, but orange) she drove now was more comfortable and safer and had such a complex computer in it that it could practically drive itself. It was better than her VW Bug by absolutely every objective measure, but she still sometimes felt a pang of longing for that old car. 

Mounting the stairs to her office, she poked her head in at the doorway across the hall, as she usually did when the occupant wasn’t with a patient.

“Hey, Archie!”

Archie Hopper looked up from his desk and grinned. “Good morning, Emma. Busy day today?”

“Not really.” She glanced at her phone. “Two appointments with new clients, and then I’ve got to teach Jasmine’s cousin how to establish a credit rating. You?”

“I’m only seeing one patient today, but I’ve got my trainee coming in.” 

“Oh, great!” Archie was planning to retire from his psychotherapy practice soon, but Ashley’s daughter Alexandra had recently returned to Storybrooke with a fresh new college degree and was training to take over for him. “Tell Alexandra I said hello.”

“I will. How’s the family?” 

Emma knew he meant it as an idle question, and she resisted the urge to collapse on his sofa, pouring out all of her troubles. She could tell him about Maureen’s anger and moodiness, and how hard it was to be patient in the face of that teenage maelstrom. She could tell him how with every year that passed, Killian was a tiny bit more withdrawn. That the things that used to bring him joy seemed to have lost their luster. That the _Jolly Roger_ hadn’t moved from the dock in months. That she couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t enough for him anymore. That she’d started to think that a belief in a happy ending, a happiness that could truly last a lifetime, had been terribly naive.

“The family’s good, thanks.”

“Glad to hear it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Killian parked his car at the sheriff’s station, opened the door, and stuck his foot out onto the pavement. After a moment’s pause, he propelled himself out of the car with some effort, his back twinging and his head continuing to throb as it had been since he had awoken that morning.

“Morning, Sheriff!” Ruby called from down the street, out on the terrace of the diner. He raised a hand to her in acknowledgment. Granny may have passed on, but the diner and inn which bore her moniker lived on, now run by Ruby and her wife Dorothy. 

He pushed his way through the double doors of the station, intent on shutting himself in his office until he felt a little bit more human. 

“Morning, Sheriff Jones!” an annoyingly chipper voice called from across the room. 

“Morning, Phillip,” Killian grunted. After four months with Aurora and the elder Phillip’s son as his deputy, he’d given up telling the lad to call him Killian.

“I took down a couple of messages this morning,” Phillip said, hurrying over and following Killian into his office. “Mrs. Abernathy still wants us to do something about the raccoons in the alley behind her house.”

“Did you tell her she needs to call animal control for that, not the bloody sheriff?” Killian set his travel mug on the desk and pulled off his leather jacket, hanging it on a coat rack next to his desk. 

“Yeah, I told her, but I’ve told her that before. Should I call them myself?”

Killian dropped into his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you want. What else?”

Philip consulted his notes. “Uh, the mayor called.”

Propping his chin on his hand, Killian arched an eyebrow. “You mean my mother-in-law? Your godmother?”

Smiling sheepishly, the young prince pressed on. “She was wondering if we could help with the fact that some of the newer Storybrooke residents aren’t paying their utility bills.”

“What does she want me to do, arrest people?”

Phillip’s eyes bulged. “No, I don’t think so. She just thinks they aren’t used to the way things work here, and maybe you can pay them a visit and instruct them, but sort of…” He looked down at his notes again. “‘Put the fear of Hook into them,’ she said.”

“Instructing people on how to live in the modern world is more my wife’s territory these days.”

“Well, maybe after you do your scary Sheriff routine, you can refer them to Emma if they have any questions?” He shrugged and gave Killian a disarming smile.

Killian sighed. “All right, fine, put it on the list. But not for today. Put it on the list for tomorrow.”

“You got it, boss. Now that you’re here, I’m going to go do a morning patrol and do the parking ticket rounds, unless you have something you need me to do?” He tucked his pencil behind his ear and pulled himself up straight. He wore a uniform, something neither Killian nor Emma had ever done, his badge polished to a shine and pinned to his starched shirt. Killian found him both immeasurably helpful and unbearably irritating at the same time.

“No, go.” Killian reached into his desk drawer and pulled out the keys to the squad car, tossing them to Phillip, who fumbled the catch, letting the keys drop to the floor. He bent over quickly to retrieve them, then stood up again and saluted. “Oh for gods’ sake, boy, don’t salute.”

“Should I pick up lunch at Granny’s for both of us when I’m done?” Phillip asked.

Feeling guilty for being annoyed by his helpful subordinate, Killian pulled out his wallet and opened it on his desk, extracting a twenty dollar bill and handing it over.

“The usual?” Phillip asked.

“Aye. And thank you.”

Once his protege was gone, Killian opened another desk drawer. Shifting things around — a flashlight, a pair of handcuffs, a box of disposable gloves, some unused evidence baggies and scattered envelopes — he found what he sought: one of his old flasks. He hadn’t touched this one in ages; he’d almost forgotten it was here. Probably the last time was a few years ago, when he and Emma had solved what was for them a huge and serious case, and arrested the person behind an illegal trade in prescription painkillers that had arisen in Storybrooke. Even Storybrooke wasn’t immune from the opioid epidemic that had swept through the country, it had turned out, although it was several years behind the peak of it elsewhere. Since Storybrooke was still a hidden town, not officially part of the larger world as far as anyone outside knew, the criminal had eventually been exiled through a portal back to their realm of origin. Before that, though, in the glow of victory, Killian had pulled out this flask and the two of them had toasted their success, figuring it was late enough in the evening that a little bit of drinking on the job wouldn’t matter. 

With a grimace, Killian took a swig from the flask. He just needed a little hair of the dog, as they said, to chase away his hangover. He put the flask back in his desk drawer and closed it.

Hearing the outside door open, he looked up guiltily, only to see Snow White coming into the building. Killian quickly picked up a tin of mints from his desk and popped one into his mouth.

“Madam Mayor,” he said, standing to go meet her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

She grinned at his formal address. “I’ve already got a to-do list about a hundred things long for this year’s fair, and several of them involve the sheriff’s office. Do you have time to discuss it?”

Killian’s head throbbed at the thought of Snow’s list.

“Also, I thought it might be helpful to set up a regular weekly meeting so that we can keep on top of action items related to the fair. Would Mondays at ten a.m. work?”

He blinked at her. “I suppose it would. But can we postpone discussing this until Phillip gets back from patrol? It will be his first Storybrooke Fair as a deputy, and I’m sure he won’t want to miss even the smallest detail of our discussion.”

“Oh.” Snow’s disappointment at her agenda being hijacked was evident, and then she narrowed her eyes at him. “You look exhausted; are you okay?”

He gave her a tight smile. “I didn’t sleep all that well. I’m getting old.”

“You’ve always been old, you’re just finally showing it,” she said absently, but then paused, her expression shifting to one of more genuine concern. “You’ve lived all this time without worrying about getting older, and now finally, you’re getting older. That must be hard to deal with.”

He felt anxiety pressing against his chest like a heavy weight and he turned away, waving his hook in dismissal. “It’s not hard to deal with. I’ve already lived so much longer than I deserved to, I can hardly quibble with some gray hairs and a few aches and pains.”

Snow watched him, and for a moment he had an irrational fear that she had her daughter’s talent for detecting lies and that somehow in all these years he’d never known it. “If you say so,” she finally said. “So,” and just like that, she’d moved onto a new subject. “How are we going to get your daughter on board with this ball?”

Killian collapsed into a nearby desk chair with a heavy sigh. “She’s stubborn like her mother. If you’re determined to get her to cooperate with this, you’re in for a long fight.”

“I know she’s not interested in makeup and dresses and honestly, if that’s the issue, then she can wear what she likes. But can you please talk to her about it? Because I want to do something special to honor the fact that she’s becoming a woman.”

Groaning, Killian rubbed his hand over his face. “Don’t remind me.”

“Aww, is the pirate who stole my daughter’s heart now faced with the idea that he may have to watch the same thing happen with his own daughter?” She gave him a fake pout and patted his knee.

“Well, Emma was twice Maureen’s age when I met her, so I’m not sure that’s a fair comparison. But am I trepidatious about her dating? Of course I am.”

“It’s only a matter of time. She’s becoming a woman, Killian.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, I’ve been responsible for purchasing her feminine hygiene products on more than one occasion,” he said.

Snow laughed. “Fair enough. I just want to be able to mark the occasion, that’s all. Something I never got to do with Emma.”

As long as they lived, Snow and David would never stop regretting all that lost time with their daughter. “All right, I’ll talk to Maureen, but I’m not making any promises.”

Snow leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.” She moved as if to leave but then turned back to him. “Do you remember when Neal fell in with that crowd of troublemakers when he was sixteen?”

Killian smirked. “How could I forget? I was the one who caught them spraying graffiti all over the side of the cannery, and then had to call and tell you that I had the young prince down at the sheriff’s station.”

“Yeah, that was a fun night. Anyway, that period was pretty stressful for David and me, and sometimes we turned that stress on each other. We would get into arguments — stupid arguments because we were so worried about Neal.”

“Emma and I aren’t fighting, Snow.” A thought occurred to him, and he felt another swell of anxiety in his chest. “Did she say something?”

“No, it’s just a mother’s intuition. I thought maybe you two need to take a little time to... reconnect? You don’t work together anymore, and parenting a teenager isn’t necessarily as rewarding… well, not rewarding in the same way, let’s say, as parenting as little one.”

He sighed. “That’s true. Although we survived Henry’s teen years with no trouble.”

“But you were younger then, and newlyweds. And you had Regina to split the parental burden with.” She patted his knee. “Think about it. Even true love needs nourishment sometimes.”

~*~

Emma was surveying the contents of the refrigerator when Killian came home, his cheeks pink and a smile on his face. “Close that refrigerator door, Swan. Let’s go out.”

Wrinkling her nose, Emma closed the refrigerator. “On a Monday? I mean, I think Maureen is studying, and—”

“Not Maureen. I love our daughter more than life itself, but she can eat leftovers.” He sauntered over to Emma, taking her in his arms and swaying back and forth, almost dancing with her. “Or her true love, cold cereal. This invitation is only for you, my darling wife, and no one else.”

She giggled at that. “What’s gotten into you tonight?”

“Nothing.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I was reminded that I don’t show you often enough how much I love you, that’s all.”

“You show me you love me all the time, babe.”

“And I thought it would be nice to spend the evening together, just the two of us.”

Emma grinned, her hand coming up to comb through the hair at the nape of his neck. “It would be nice. Where are we going?”

He shrugged. “Anywhere you want. How about that Agraban restaurant you like so much?”

“No, Maureen loves it too, she’d be furious if we went without her,” she replied. Fortunately, the restaurant choices had improved in Storybrooke since they’d started dating. “What about that new seafood place down near the water? That was good.”

“As long as you aren’t picking it only for my sake,” Killian said.

“No, I liked it too.” She pulled out of his embrace and ran a hand through her hair. “Let me freshen up first.”

“I’ll go tell Maureen she’s on her own for the evening.”

Emma snorted. “I’m sure she’ll be heartbroken.”

Killian put his hook over his chest in mock outrage. “Are you suggesting that our daughter prefers the house to herself?”

Laughing, Emma went up the stairs and into their bedroom, debating whether she should change her clothes for this spontaneous date. She thought fleetingly about the fact that she hadn’t shaved her legs recently and that it would have been nice to be well-groomed for any post-dinner activities in the bedroom, but Killian never seemed to mind when she let those things slide.

Once she’d made herself moderately presentable, he drove them to the restaurant. He seemed more cheerful tonight than she’d seen him in a long time, but there was a manic fidgetiness underneath it that kept her from relaxing. He turned up the volume of his music a little too loudly, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove too fast down Main Street.

Emma snuck glances at Killian’s profile in the dark interior of the car, remembering how pleased he’d been when he first learned to drive. She could see in her mind’s eye the way he’d looked during that afternoon drive they’d taken up the coast not long after, the way the sunlight caught the red highlights in his beard as he’d turned to her, grinned, and gunned the accelerator. The red in his beard was now predominantly gray, much more so than the hair on his head. She could tell when she ran her fingers through his hair that it was thinner than it used to be, but she doubted it was noticeable to anyone else.

The fact was, her husband was still remarkably handsome, even now at what must be past fifty, biologically. (His actual age, no one knew.) The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and the flecks of gray in his hair made him look distinguished, she thought. Sure, there was a little more for her to grab around his middle than there had been when he was younger, but the same could be said for her. 

Killian pulled into a parking space and shut off the car. “Ready, my love?”

Emma nodded, leaning over to give him a peck on the lips.

The restaurant was only about half-full, it being a Monday night, and they were seated at a small table with a view of the harbor. The chef, a subject from Prince Eric’s maritime kingdom who had immigrated to Storybrooke relatively recently, greeted them and recited the specials for the evening himself.

“So,” Emma said after their waiter put the drinks they ordered in front of them, “how was your day?”

He took a big swig of his rum. “Rather dull. Yours?”

“It was okay.” She ran a finger absently around the rim of her wine glass. “Another Storybrooke kid ready to go off to college on the outside, you know the drill.”

There was a long pause, and Emma grimaced. “During the day, I’m constantly coming across things I want to tell you about, and now I’ve forgotten every single one.”

Killian huffed out through his nose. “Aye.”

“Remember when Maureen was a baby, and all we could talk about were the cute things she did?”

He smiled. “Remember when we used to compete over who could tell the saddest or most disgusting story from our childhoods?”

“I think we’ve told each other every story we know three times by now.”

Killian finished his rum and raised the empty toward the waiter, signaling for another.

“How’s Phillip?” she asked, watching his long fingers caress the heavy bottom of the glass.

“He has the same stick up his arse, I’m afraid.”

“Aww, be nice, he’s only trying to win your approval, Killian.”

The smile he gave her was obviously forced. “Let’s not talk about work.”

Emma wasn’t sure what else they had to talk about, but the arrival of the waiter with Killian’s drink and to take their orders delayed that question. She asked the waiter to bring a second glass of wine with her meal, but Killian shook his head. “Bring a bottle and a glass for me,” he corrected.

“I can’t drink that much on a weeknight, babe,” Emma said.

“Oh, live a little, Swan. We’re on a date.” He flashed her a charming smile.

It would certainly make her feel less like they had nothing to talk about if she got a little drunk, Emma had to admit to herself with a shrug of her shoulders. “Sure, okay.”

~*~

“Who’s that couple over there?” Killian asked with a subtle tilt of his head toward the other side of the restaurant.

Emma put down her fork and glanced in the direction he indicated, seeing an elderly couple eating dinner together. “Uh… I should know, I think they’ve been in Storybrooke since the original curse. Jenkins? Johnson? It’s a J name. Why?”

“And they’re a married couple?”

“Yeah, why?”

He smirked. “I’ve been watching them for several minutes, and they have an odd manner with each other. More like he’s her footman than her husband. Also she’s sent her entree back to the kitchen twice.”

Emma tried to glance unobtrusively in their direction again as she sipped her wine. “Maybe he _was_ her footman in the Enchanted Forest. I’ll confess even after all these years, I still don’t know everyone’s story.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but may I have your leave to eat my dinner?” Killian said in a falsely arch whisper.

Stifling a giggle, Emma set her glass down and squared her shoulders. “Oh, are we doing this now?” She watched the couple for a few seconds, and then in a terrible approximation of a British accent, replied, “If you must, darling, but please do not brandish your fork in my direction, it’s unseemly.”

Killian narrowed his eyes at her. “How can your accent still be that bad after living with me for more than twenty years?”

“Shut up.” Emma continued her observation of the imperious wife across the restaurant before going on with her improvisation of the woman’s dialogue, although she dropped the accent. “Now, be a dear and summon the waiter; I don’t like the way this fish is looking at me.”

Killian snorted as he refilled his wine glass and hers. “Yes, mistress. Right away, mistress.”

“Okay, that makes it sound like some kind of BDSM thing.”

“Who says it isn’t?”

Emma looked at the couple again and wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for putting that image in my head.”

The wine did loosen Emma’s tongue, and their conversation wandered from a discussion about being the sheriff of Storybrooke to a discussion about its first sheriff, Graham Humbert. Somehow she ended up rambling through the story of the night Graham died. She’d told Killian the story before, she was certain of it, but he listened attentively anyway, swirling the last of his wine in the wide bowl of the glass.

“I wonder how things would have turned out if he had lived,” Killian mused. “Perhaps you and I never would’ve—”

“Oh, Killian, don’t… I would still be with you. It’s not like he was destined to be some great love of my life or anything.”

He raised an eyebrow as he pulled out his wallet to pay the bill. “You never know, Swan. A small thing here or there and suddenly your life is on a completely different trajectory.”

“Well, I refuse to consider any trajectories that don’t lead to you and me being together.” She reached over and grabbed his hook.

When she stood up to leave the restaurant, Emma swayed, realizing that her first instinct not to drink so much had probably been the right one. She clung to Killian as they went outside, bringing them both to a staggering stop when she saw his car waiting for them in the parking lot.

“I don’t think either of us is in any shape to drive.”

“I’m fine, love.”

“You had two rums — doubles — and more than half that bottle of wine.” Saying it out loud, Emma cringed at how much she now realized he’d drunk. “There is no way you’re legally sober enough to drive, even if you feel like you are. And, as I shouldn’t need to remind you, you’re the sheriff.” She put her arms around his waist. “Come on, it’s not far to walk, and I’ll drive you over to get your car in the morning.”

“All right, all right.” He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose and swung them around toward the sidewalk, his arm draped over her shoulders.

As they walked home, Emma let her hand drift down from Killian’s waist to his ass, earning her a lascivious grin before he leaned over and nuzzled at her throat. It almost caused her to lose her balance, pulling him into the gutter on top of her in a heap, but Killian managed to keep them upright. He laughed at the near mishap.

By the time they walked through the front door of their house, Emma had sobered up a little, although she could still feel the buzz of the alcohol in her brain and her extremities. 

“I’ll go tell Maureen to go to bed,” she said, flipping off the porch light.

“And then _we’ll_ go to bed?” Killian asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

She winked, dashing up the stairs and down the hall. Opening her daughter’s door, she saw Maureen stretched out on the bed and looking at her phone. Headphones covered her ears.

“Time for bed!” Emma overenunciated so that Maureen could read her lips. 

Maureen pulled her headphones off. “How was your date with Dad?”

“It was nice. Did you remember to eat?”

“Yes, Mom,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I am capable of things like feeding myself.”

Emma had no interest in taking the bait on that, not when her husband was waiting for her in the bedroom. “Okay, goodnight!” she said quickly.

Killian pounced on her as soon as she walked into the room, his mouth sucking insistently against her throat as he steered her toward the bed. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you all night,” he said through gritted teeth, his foot kicking back to shut the door.

“You have?” She grinned. Even after all these years, she still got a charge out of how much he desired her.

“I kept thinking about it at the restaurant,” he said as he unbuttoned her blouse. “I wanted to bend you over that white tablecloth and just thrust inside you.”

Emma reached for the buckle of his belt, pulling it open. “I think that might have killed the Johnsons or Jenkinses or whoever.”

They gave up undressing each other and focused on undressing themselves. Once she was naked, Emma threw the bedclothes back and reclined on the pillows, watching as Killian divested himself of his brace. There was gray in his chest hair now too; had been for a few years, and she found it to be terribly endearing. He crawled on top of her, nudging his nose against her cheek as he slanted his mouth over hers, and she happily wrapped her arms and legs around him as she opened her mouth into the kiss. 

After a several minutes of deep kisses and some very enjoyable grinding, Killian settled at her side. His hand worked expertly between her legs, touching her with purpose, and Emma closed her eyes and tried to focus on the physical sensation. Sometimes she felt almost guilty, contemplating the proportion of their sex life that was spent getting her to the place where she could orgasm. Not that she thought Killian minded; he’d always enjoyed bringing her pleasure. 

HIs fingers slid inside her, curling and stretching her and making her breath come faster. But somehow at the same time, a corner of her brain was distracting her with idle thoughts: her to-do list for tomorrow, Maureen, the fact that she’d forgotten to do laundry. When the image of a hot guy from a movie she liked popped into her head, Emma latched onto it. She imagined him, all perfect abs and huge biceps, pinning her wrists to the mattress and fucking her hard, and she felt a rush of desire in response to that fantasy.

Killian moved over her then, pressing her legs apart with his knees and positioning himself to enter her. Emma blinked, bringing her mind back to reality and Killian just as he slid inside her. She moaned, but the noise was more out of habit than a real reaction to what she was feeling. Rolling her hips, Emma tried to kindle the small spark of pleasure into a roaring fire.

After a few minutes of steady movement, Killian pulled out and slid down the bed, spreading her legs wider and diving down with his mouth, no doubt picking up on the fact that she was struggling to keep up with him. His mouth was suddenly everywhere, deep licks at her opening and sharp sucks directly on her clit, almost as if he thought he could find a cheat code for her orgasm if he was diligent enough. It did feel really good, of course it did, and Emma grabbed the back of his head, her nails raking over his scalp.

He coaxed her up, higher and higher, but she felt herself plateau after a few minutes. That goddamned wine, she thought, writhing in frustration against the sheets. Why had she let Killian talk her into drinking so much? Her days of being able to drink herself stupid and then fuck like a champ were long gone.

“Fuck me,” she gasped, hoping that if she could have his cock, it would give her what she needed. Sometimes oral sex was exactly the right thing to get her off, and sometimes she needed him inside her, the perfect slide and stretch of it.

He was back over her in a second, his tongue filling her mouth at the same time that his cock filled her below. It was better now, thick and wet, and his beard dragged her own wetness against her chin as they kissed. Emma gripped his ass, urging him to fuck her harder, faster, desperate to find the right gear that would take her toward oblivion.

After several more minutes, she shook her head.

“Don’t hold out for me,” she said. “I’m not gonna get there.”

Killian looked down into her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s not happening. I drank too much.”

He sighed. “I may not get there either, actually.”

Emma almost laughed. What a pair they made, she thought.

Pushing against his chest, she urged him back onto his heels, his cock sliding out of her. “Let’s not give up on you yet,” she said, turning over onto her knees. She leaned down on her elbows, her head hanging down and resting against her pillow.

Killian didn’t say anything, just positioned himself and thrust inside her again, hard enough to make her slide up toward the headboard an inch. Emma reached out and braced herself with one hand.

He felt good, deep and full inside her, and the encouraging moans she made were genuine, even if they were mostly for her husband’s benefit. There was still some satisfaction to be had in the sensation of being fucked hard like this. 

“Oh, fuck, there,” he grunted after a few minutes, his fingers gripping her hip as he emptied himself with a final few short thrusts, relief in his voice. 

When he pulled out, Emma flopped over onto her side, out of breath. She felt Killian collapse behind her, and then after a minute, his hand stroked gently up and down her side.

“Are you sure I can’t help you find release, love?”

He would if she asked. He’d fight off drowsiness and slide his hand or his tongue between her legs, doing whatever she needed for as long as she needed; he’d done it before. 

“Make it up to me next time,” she said, her eyes slipping closed.


	3. Chapter 3

When Emma’s alarm went off the next morning, she was mildly surprised to see that Killian was already up.

After going through her usual routine of goading Maureen out of bed, Emma followed the smell of coffee downstairs to find Killian already in the kitchen, dressed for work. The early morning sunlight made his sheriff’s badge wink at her from his belt.

“Hey,” she said, kissing his cheek, the familiar scent of his aftershave filling her nose, before she made for the coffee pot. “You’re up early.”

“Aye.”

She watched him as he puttered around the kitchen, putting dishes away and wiping down the counters. There were dark circles under his eyes, and those eyes had a haunted look in them that set off alarm bells in her brain.

“Babe, are you okay?”

He flashed her a tight smile. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for; I had fun last night. And as far as the sex goes…” She glanced toward the stairs and then lowered her voice. “I’m pretty sure I come more frequently than most women. You don’t need to apologize when occasionally I don’t. Besides, it was the booze, not any failing of yours.”

That only made him frown more, the lines on his forehead deepening. “Regarding that, I had a thought. Perhaps in the interest of being a bit healthier, I will cease the drinking.”

“What, _entirely_?” Emma had never known Killian to not drink at all, although he had done a lot less of it when she’d been pregnant, and for several years after that.

“Maybe only on special occasions. As you often say, love, we aren’t getting any younger, and I’ll confess I don’t have the spring in my step that I once had.” He shrugged, scratching behind his ear. “I thought I’d give abstinence a try and see if I feel better.”

“Well, I think that’s a great idea.” She walked over and put her arms around him. “As long as alcohol is the only thing you’re abstaining from,” she said with a cheeky grin.

He chuckled. “Oh, worry not, I’m going to have you on your back and screaming my name tonight,” he whispered before diving in for a kiss.

As the kiss deepened, they ignored the thumping footsteps on the stairs. “It’s way too early for you guys to be that disgusting,” Maureen said as Emma pulled her lips away from her husband. Her daughter was dressed for school, an oversized zip-up hoodie over her uniform, her hair up in a messy ponytail on top of her head.

“It’s never too early to gross you out with our public displays of affection,” Emma replied, unwrapping herself from Killian. “What do you have going on after school?”

Maureen shrugged. “I might go study at the library with Ben.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately,” Killian said.

“Yeah, cause he’s my _friend_ ,” Maureen said, and Emma could see her indignation at her father’s insinuation brewing.

“Okay, okay, you’d better get going or you’re going to be late,” Emma said.

Maureen opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a box of pop tarts, liberating one of the foil packets and sticking it in the pocket of her hoodie. “Later,” she said as she left the house.

“All right, I’m going to take a shower,” Emma said, planting one more kiss on Killian’s lips. “Have a good day at work.”

“I love you, Swan.” He grabbed her hand, and looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he just finished with, “I’ll see you tonight.”

~*~

Before he left the house, while Emma was still getting ready for work, Killian poured his bottle of rum down the drain. He found another one of his flasks in a drawer and emptied that too. There were still a few bottles of wine in a small wine rack in the corner of the kitchen, some beer in the refrigerator, and some dusty bottles of other types of liquor in a cabinet, but those weren’t his particular poison, and it seemed unnecessary to go so far as to completely purge the house of every drop of alcohol. Besides, it would make Emma suspicious, especially if he dumped the whiskey she occasionally drank. 

It’s not that he hadn’t known that he was inclined toward abusing drink; he only had to think back to his years at sea, and how many of them he’d spent with a flask always near at hand, his constant companion when everyone else left him behind. He also had the unique perspective of having met an alternate version of himself who really had become a drunk, and who even now considered himself an alcoholic and refrained from drinking even a drop. He hadn’t seen his other self in a few years, but that fact had always rubbed against Killian like an ill-fitting boot. 

This realm had a very black-and-white view of drunks, he’d always thought. Once a drunk, always a drunk, people believed, and if television programs were any guide, the only solution was to never drink again and to constantly attend meetings in which you constantly talk about what a miserable drunk you are. But Killian knew it wasn’t that simple. He’d had times in his life where he’d become dependent on alcohol, certainly, but he’d also had long stretches of time where he’d been able to refrain from drinking too much without going completely dry.

When he got to the station, after he sent Phillip out to write parking tickets, he found the flask in his desk drawer again. He flushed with shame, remembering the way he’d retrieved it as soon as Snow left the office the day before, swallowing half its contents before he could think twice about it. Carrying the flask to the restroom, he emptied it into the sink.

Perhaps he’d reached a point in his life where moderate drinking was no longer an option. Perhaps he’d have to be like those people on television, and like his doppelganger from the wish realm, and abstain from alcohol entirely.

He stared at his face in the mirror. If that’s what it took to be a better husband and father, then he’d make the sacrifice gladly.

 _You’ll have to tell Emma the truth then_ , a little voice in his head whispered, and his eyes squeezed shut at the thought. The last thing he wanted to do was burden her with this. The last thing he wanted her to know was that deep down, he was still as weak as ever.

~*~

Maureen’s hand paused on the door handle, and she took a deep breath. “You can do this,” she whispered to herself, and she opened the door.

Both of her parents were in the kitchen. Her mother was slicing vegetables on a cutting board, and her dad was stirring something on the stove. There was music playing, and they both seemed really happy. It made Maureen wonder suddenly if they’d be this happy all the time if she didn’t exist. If their dark moods were just because she was always so difficult.

“Hello, love, how was your afternoon?” her dad said, turning to her with a wide grin.

“It was fine.” She hesitated, taking another deep breath. She could retreat upstairs like she always did, like she’d done the last four times she tried to tell them. But she knew she couldn’t do that forever. “Can I talk to you guys for a minute?”

That got their attention. Her mom turned off the music while her dad turned the burner on the stove down to low. “What is it, sweetie?” Emma asked, looking concerned.

“Um…” Maureen took her backpack off, setting it down on the floor. “I mean, it’s nothing bad. At least, I hope you won’t think it’s bad. I don’t think you will. And it’s not a big deal, it’s just a thing about me that it’s important that you… that you know about.”

Her dad stepped over and took her hand, guiding her to the kitchen table. She sat, and he seated himself across from her. “Whatever it is, you can tell us, yeah? Always.”

“Okay, uh… I’m gay. That’s what I wanted to tell you. No big.” She stood up again, every instinct telling her to retreat to the safe haven of her room. “So I’ll just—”

“Hang on, Maureen, you can’t make such a huge announcement and then run up to your room,” Emma said, coming over and putting a hand on Killian’s shoulder. “Sit back down for just a minute. Please.”

She sank back into her chair. Neither of them looked surprised or particularly upset, but she couldn’t tell what they were thinking, and it was making her nervous.

“I’m glad you felt comfortable telling us, and of course we don’t think it’s a bad thing,” her mother said, which made Maureen relax a little.

“How long have… when did you realize this about yourself?” her dad asked.

“That’s kind of hard to answer. In a way, I’ve known for as long as I can remember, but in another way, I just realized it recently? I know that doesn’t make sense.” Her breath hitched, and then her dad reached out and took her hand again. It helped, steadying her. “Even though there have always been gay people in our lives, I think I still always understood that the default was heterosexuality, you know? Almost all the stories are about princes and princesses, not… princesses and princesses.”

Emma dropped into the chair next to Killian, her expression sympathetic. “We probably could have done a better job of making sure you had more representation in the books you read.”

“So I think I’ve known for a while that I didn’t feel that way about boys. But you don’t know what you’re supposed to feel like, so I thought maybe I was just… I don’t know. And then even when I realized I was attracted to girls, I figured I was probably bisexual, like Ruby.” 

“But now you don’t think you are?” Emma asked.

Maureen laughed nervously, pulling her hand out of her father’s grasp. She certainly wasn’t going to tell her parents that she’d never ever had a sexual fantasy about a boy, but she’d had plenty about girls she went to school with… and actresses… and that one waitress with the red hair who worked at Granny’s. “Yeah, no. Pretty sure I’m one hundred percent gay.”

“Well, that’s great!” Emma said a little bit too brightly and then winced. “That sounded weird, sorry. I just mean it’s great that you know yourself, and that you told us.”

Killian scratched behind his ear, a clear tell that he was at least a little bit uncomfortable. “I see now why you were so against the idea of your grandmother’s ball, love, but you must know if you want to attend with a lass on your arm, none of us will be bothered by that. Snow White and Prince Charming included.”

Maureen felt a flare of anger in her chest. “I’m not against the ball because I want to date girls, I’m against it because it’s dumb.”

Emma’s mouth thinned into a flat line. “Well, it’s important to your grandparents, sweetheart, so you may have to suffer through it.”

“Can you not ruin what was a civil family conversation for once by bringing up that stupid ball?” she snapped, and then she regretted her anger instantly. She almost always regretted her anger instantly, but she just couldn’t help it when her parents seemed to so willfully misunderstand her. 

“Fine, fine,” Emma said quickly, holding up her hands. “We won’t talk about it.”

“Sorry,” Maureen said, standing up. “I’m gonna go to my room now, okay?”

“Okay,” her mom said.

She wanted to thank them for accepting her. She wanted to thank them for loving her in spite of the fact that she was lazy and angry a lot of the time. She wanted to thank them for loving her when she was pretty sure she wasn’t worthy of that love. The words damming up in her throat, Maureen fled the room.

~*~

“Okay, then,” Emma said. 

Killian turned and looked at his wife. She was blinking, her surprise evident on her face. “I didn’t see that coming, did you?” she asked.

He shrugged, standing up and returning to his dinner preparations. “I mean, the thought had occurred to me that she wouldn’t necessarily be heterosexual, but if you’re asking me if there was anything in particular about Maureen that screamed lesbian, I can’t say that there was.”

“Yeah, exactly. Although it’s true that she never talked about boys the way that I did at that age. But she didn’t talk about girls that way either. She plays her cards pretty close to the vest, that kid.”

“Aye.”

“I couldn’t help but think of Alice,” Emma said.

Killian flinched at the mention of his other self’s daughter, but he said nothing.

“Maybe we should encourage Maureen to get in touch with her,” Emma went on.

“She’s got Ruby and Dorothy to talk to if she needs sapphic role models,” he said.

“I know, but they’re our age. Alice is still in her twenties, right? Or early thirties at most.”

“I’ve only met her twice, Swan, I haven’t a clue.” He stirred his sauce vigorously with a whisk. “I don’t even know what realm they’re in.”

Emma sighed. “Good point. But I can easily call Zelena and find out.”

Killian picked up the cutting board and added the mushrooms Emma had sliced to his sauce. He could feel Emma watching him, her eyes boring into his back. 

“You’re okay with this, right?” she asked.

He turned and gave his wife an exasperated look. “I’m hardly homophobic, Swan. I dare say pirates are among the least homophobic people I’ve known. Certainly less so than royals, always concerned about continuing the family line.”

Emma gave him a sardonic look, but let his implied slight against her family go without comment. “I wasn’t accusing you of being homophobic, I was checking if you were all right.”

“I’m fine. If she’s happy, then I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

Huffing, he turned back to his cooking. “I wonder if it’s because of me. My… genetics.”

“What, because of Alice?”

“Aye. They are half-sisters, in a way.”

Emma stood up and came over next to him, her hand on the small of his back. “I don’t know if it works that way, but even if it is your genes, does it matter? It’s not a bad thing. It’s not like inheriting bad eyesight, or an increased risk of cancer.”

“No, I know.” He smiled at her. “Sorry, it’s just… information I’ll need to adjust to, that’s all.”

Resting her head on his shoulder, she sighed. “Yeah, same here.”

~*~

“Wow,” David said, leaning against the paddock fence next to Killian. “When did she tell you?”

“A few days ago.” He raised his face to the sun. It was a perfect spring Saturday, and he’d decided to spend it helping around the Charming’s farm, something he’d done too infrequently of late. The manual labor was satisfying, and it quieted his roiling thoughts.

“You sure you don’t want a beer?” David indicated the cooler in the bed of his truck with his thumb.

Killian really, really did. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever wanted a beer more, he thought, his eyes fixed on the condensation on the bottle in his father-in-law’s hand. Instead, he shook his head, lifting the water bottle in his own hand. “I’m fine with this.”

“Wait, is it okay that you’re telling me about it?”

“Maureen said she didn’t want to have to individually come out to everyone in Storybrooke, so I think she prefers that we tell you, to be honest.” Killian shrugged, his eyes going back to the horses running around the paddock. “So I’m telling you.”

“Is there a girl she’s interested in? Is that what prompted her to come out?”

“She says there isn’t, but I’m not sure if she would tell us if there were. And I can’t help but wonder…” Killian stopped talking and groaned, hanging his head. He felt a rush of air and heard a thunder of hooves as the horses exercising in the paddock ran past him. “Perhaps I am a homophobe.”

“No, you aren’t. Wonder what?” David asked.

“I can’t help but wonder how she can be certain. She’s still so young; can she be sure that she’s definitely only interested in women?” 

David raised his eyebrows, nodding. “It does seem like it’s almost uncool to kids these days to just be a… what are the terms they use? A gender-conforming straight person?” He grimaced, shaking his head. “Did I just say ‘kids these days’? Now I know I’m getting old.”

Killian laughed.

“My point is, it could be an experiment. Like she’s trying on an identity to see how well it fits,” David continued.

“But it doesn’t really matter, does it, Dave? If she identifies as gay, then she’s gay unless she tells me otherwise,” Killian said.

David frowned at him. “Do you purposefully lead me down these conversational paths just so that you can end up looking more enlightened than me?”

“No, but when I hear my less charitable thoughts coming out of your mouth, it’s easier to see how wrong they are,” Killian said, pasting on a shit-eating grin.

David rolled his eyes and turned back to watching the exercising horses. “You’re an ass.”

Killian elbowed him in the ribs. “It’s why you love me.”

~*~

“Aww, she’s gonna be the most adorable lesbian,” Ruby said as she put Emma’s cocoa in front of her. It was late and the diner was closed, but Ruby had let Emma in and stuck around so they could talk. The cocoa was a bonus.

“I just wish she seemed happier. I thought that unburdening herself to us and coming out would turn her back into the happy kid she used to be, but she’s as moody as ever.” Emma spooned some of the cinnamon-dusted whipped cream off the top of the mug and put it in her mouth. The dim lighting inside the diner brought back a rush of nostalgia, of so many late nights at this counter or in one of the booths, gossiping or flirting or strategizing about the latest crisis. Although she’d come to Storybrooke as an adult, Emma felt like she had, in a way, grown up here.

“Well, yeah, she is a teenager.” 

Emma shook her head. “I think it’s more than that. I don’t know.”

“Still, it’s a good sign that she felt comfortable enough with it to tell you. She’s lucky to have good parents who are gonna love her regardless.”

“Of course, that’s not even a question. I can’t help thinking about how much harder this must have been for kids in the past. And for parents. I mean, it’s really nothing these days. _So_ not a big deal.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “You sound a little bit like you’re trying to convince yourself that it’s not a big deal, Emma.”

Emma gulped. “No, it really isn’t! I mean, it’s a big deal in the sense that it’s a huge part of who she is. I just mean… I have no idea what I mean. Like Killian said, it’s information we need to adjust to.”

“Of course.”

“But I can’t help but think…” Emma started, then shook her head. “No. Never mind.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Go on, get it off your chest. We’ve been friends long enough that I promise I won’t hold it against you.”

“Okay, can I be totally heteronormative for a second?” 

“This is a safe space, darling. Go for it.” Ruby leaned over the counter and propped her chin on her hand.

“I want her to — when she’s older, of course — have a satisfying sex life. And yes, before you say anything, I know she can have a satisfying sex life with another woman, obviously. _Obviously_. But…” She sighed. “I mean, there’s just nothing better than getting fucked with a really nice cock. It’s, like, the pinnacle of sex.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be to _her_ , because she’s probably not interested in cocks. Or the dudes who usually accompany them,” Ruby said. 

“I know that logically, and yet I can’t help but feel like she’ll be missing out on a big thing.” 

She could see Ruby trying to hold in a giggle for a second before the quiet diner rang out with her laughter. “A _big thing_?”

“Yeah, okay, that was a terrible way to phrase it.” Emma hung her head. “And before you say it, I realize I’m the worst person in the world for thinking this.”

“No, you’re not, you just have a certain perspective about sexuality, but it isn’t the only one.” Ruby leaned back and crossed her arms. “Look, take it from someone who has enjoyed her share of cocks in the past: I’m just as satisfied now, and it’s because I’m with someone I love. That’s way more important than any particular body part and what it can or can’t do.”

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right.”

“And besides, dildos are great.”

Emma snorted with laughter. She was glad she had Ruby to talk to about this. As enlightened as Killian might be, she was certain he wouldn’t be able to handle a conversation including their daughter and dildos.

“Do you know the best thing about a dildo, Emma?” Ruby asked.

“What’s that?”

“It doesn’t have a man attached to it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Emma climbed into bed, and Killian immediately pulled her into his arms. “I don’t want you to go tomorrow.”

Pressing her nose against his neck, she breathed in. “It’s only for a few nights, Killian.”

A former Storybrooke resident had gotten into some legal trouble in Boston, so Emma was planning to drive down in the morning and see if she could help to clear things up. She hoped it wouldn’t take her away from home for too long, but until she talked to him in person, it was hard to say for sure. For now, she closed her eyes and focused on the warmth and comfort of being in her husband’s arms.

The last few weeks had been good. Really good. Even though Maureen was still prone to flashes of anger occasionally, she was talking a little more with them since she came out, lingering at the dinner table instead of rushing back to her room, and answering their questions about school with more than monosyllables. And Killian was much more energetic lately, waking up early like he used to, and not nearly as exhausted when he came home from the sheriff’s station. It felt like the whole mood in the house had lightened and she hated to have to leave it, even if it was only for two or three nights.

Killian lifted her pajama top and buried his face between her breasts. “May I show you how much I’m going to miss you?” he murmured between soft kisses on her skin, tracing a path first to one nipple, then the other.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

The progression of their foreplay could follow a well-worn path sometimes, when they weren’t making an attempt to be adventurous; the way his hand pressed against the base of her skull as their mouths and tongues worked against each other, the point at which she reached down the front of his underwear to stroke his hardening cock, the moment she rolled onto her back and spread her legs to welcome his fingers within her. But it didn’t matter how many thousands of times they had done this, not when the taste of his mouth could trigger a throb of desire between her legs, not when his warm hand on the flare of her hip sent her heartbeat accelerating in anticipation. 

She wondered sometimes if it was true love that sustained her response to him after so many years, or if after so long her whole nervous system had adapted to respond to all things Killian. A canyon carved deep by the river of him: his touch, his scent, the whispered, filthy praise that fell from his lips.

“You make me so hard,” he said now, pulling his fingers from her only to suck them into his own mouth. “You’re so lovely and wet for me.”

She pushed him back against the sheets, straddling him and rutting against his erection, shamelessly using the friction directly on her clit until she was close. Then she shifted her hips and let him slide inside her. “I love you.”

“Gods, I love you, too,” he groaned, his head tilting back, the cords of his neck standing out in relief.

Emma let her eyes fall closed and focused on her motion, rolling her hips in perfect sync with the way he lifted his, her fingers gripping into the mattress on either side of Killian’s head.

“That’s it, love, make yourself come around me.” He strained his neck up as he reached out and grabbed her left breast, bringing his mouth to it and sucking sharply. The tingling almost-pain made her gasp, made her speed up, made her fuck him harder. She reached out and grabbed the headboard, using it to grind down with more leverage, mindless with her need to come. It was so good, _he_ was so good, touching every part of her inside and out just exactly the way she needed it. She could feel exactly the moment when falling became inevitable, sweat breaking on her face and chest and back as she continued to meet his thrusts.

Her orgasm was quiet, intense pulses that she felt deep in her abdomen, radiating down to her curled toes and out to the tips of her fingers. As soon as she started to come down from her peak, Killian raised his knees, giving himself the leverage to take control from underneath. He fucked up into her so hard that he almost lifted her from the bed, and she gripped the headboard tighter, moans mingling with Killian’s as he climaxed. 

They were both panting as she dismounted, and Emma made her way to the bathroom on wobbly legs to clean herself up. She filled a glass with water from the sink and gulped it down, then refilled it and carried it back out to the bedroom. Killian was still lying on his back just as she’d left him.

“That was fantastic,” he said without opening his eyes.

“Yeah it was. Water?”

“Thanks.” Killian sat up and took the glass as Emma pulled her pajamas back on and got into bed, scrunching up her pillow under her head to get comfortable. 

Killian set the water glass down and leaned over her, kissing her cheek. “Sleep well, darling.”

~*~

It was most difficult when he was at home by himself.

With Emma in Boston and Maureen out with friends, Killian rattled around the big house, trying to distract himself from thinking about having a drink. He picked up a book and tried to read it, he made a grocery list, he did a load of laundry, he even turned on the television in search of some mindless entertainment, and all the while, he imagined the taste of rum on his tongue. The warm burn of it sliding down his throat into his stomach. The way the heavy glass would feel in his hand.

Shutting off the television in frustration, he leaned back on the leather sofa, pulled out his phone, and placed a call.

“Killian, hey!” Henry said when he answered.

“Hello, my boy.”

“What’s up, is everything all right?”

Killian grimaced. “I suppose I don’t call you often enough if that’s your first reaction when I finally do.” 

“Well you’ve never really been a phone person. Even now, you insist on making these voice-only calls, like you’ve finally caught up to the late 1990s.” The warmth in Henry’s voice took the edge off of his ribbing. “How’s Maureen?”

“She’s fine, she’s over at a friend’s house. Oh, did Emma tell you—”

“That Maureen’s gay? Yeah, Mom told me. I was thinking of sending her a ‘Congrats on coming out’ card. Would that be too weird?”

“Hell if I know.”

“But everything’s good there?”

_No, it’s not. It’s all gotten so much harder. Everything that came easily to me when you were here is now so much harder, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it through tonight, much less another few decades like this._

“Everything’s fine. We’re hoping you can come for a visit soon,” Killian said.

“Grandma’s already texted me three times about coming for the fair. I’ll probably book the plane tickets this week.”

“Excellent.”

“Are you all right? You sound sort of melancholy.”

Killian closed his eyes. “I’m fine. Your mother’s in Boston for work and I’m missing her, that’s all.”

Henry huffed out a breath. “You guys are adorable.”

Killian swallowed on a dry throat. There was a worn spot on the arm of the sofa where his hook tended to rest, and he picked at it with the metal point. “Do you still believe in happy endings, Henry?”

“Of course I do, how could I not?”

“Good. Never stop, my boy.”

There was a pause. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Ship shape.” He stood up and walked toward the front of the house, suddenly unable to sit still. “I’d better get going. I love you, Henry.”

“Love you, too.”

Throwing the phone down on the table, Killian stalked into his study, a small room on the first floor that Emma sometimes called his map room, based on the collection of antique nautical charts he’d collected over the years and stored in cubbies that lined the wall behind his desk. He made for the desk now, tearing open drawers until he found what he sought, an almost-full bottle of rum he’d forgotten he had when he poured out the other.

_No, you didn’t. You didn’t forget. You knew it was here. A little insurance policy against too much sobriety._

Ignoring the voice in his head, he twisted open the cap and drank straight from the bottle.

~*~

A thump startled Killian from his doze. He opened his eyes to find himself in the wing-backed chair in his study, the rum half gone and fogging his brain. He looked at the clock and saw it was past one in the morning. Remembering that Maureen had been out when he fell asleep, he stood up quickly and barrelled out of the room. She must’ve come home and gone straight to bed. Had she seen him, passed out in a chair? His heart pounded as he made his way toward the front stairs, intent on checking his daughter’s room.

Maureen wasn’t in bed. She was standing in the foyer, pulling off a boot.

“What time’s this? Did you just get home?”

She turned on him with wide eyes, messy wisps of hair curling around her face. “No, I… been home for a while.”

He didn’t need his wife’s superpower to detect that lie, not when her boots were damp with dew and her nose and cheeks were red with the late-night chill. “Try again.”

“Sorry, lost track of time,” she mumbled, pushing past him toward the stairs, or trying to. She stumbled, and Killian caught her by both of her upper arms.

He looked into her eyes. “Love, what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”

“‘M fine. I know I’m prob’ly grounded, it’s okay. I’ll go t’ bed.”

Her words slurred, and her breath reeked of cheap booze.

“Have you been _drinking_?”

She didn't try to lie this time. Shoulders slumping, her eyes filled with tears. “Ben had vodka, and I just wanted… I didn’t want…” His hands still on her arms, Killian could feel her body convulse, and she slapped her hand over her mouth.

Parental instincts took over, and Killian propelled her toward the downstairs powder room, guiding her so that when her stomach began to violently empty its contents, she was aimed at the toilet. 

Mostly.

“Ugh, what were you mixing the vodka with, cherry syrup?”

Maureen dropped to her knees, still in the throes of being sick, and Killian knelt down beside her, gathering her hair with his hand to try to keep her from vomiting in it, although he feared he was a few seconds too late for that. The lingering effects of his own drinking seemed to have disappeared in the face of this crisis.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said when she could finally speak, her head propped against her forearm. Tears ran from her eyes, but he couldn’t tell if she was crying or if it was just her eyes watering from being so ill.

“We’ll discuss it in the morning.” Somewhere deep inside he was furious, but he didn’t know if he was more furious with her or with her friend Ben or with himself. “Tonight let’s just get you cleaned up and into bed.”

“Don’t tell Mom.”

He barked out a laugh. “Does this seem like a secret I could keep from your mother?” He stood up and grabbed the hand towel off of the towel rack, dampening it under warm water before kneeling back down and gently wiping her face.

“Do you think you’re done being sick?” he asked her when she hadn’t thrown anything else up for a couple of minutes.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, I’ll put a bucket next to your bed.” He guided her to stand, helping her up the stairs and into her room. “Can you get changed? I’m going to go get you some water.”

Maureen nodded, throwing one shoulder back in an attempt to get her hoodie off. It was less than successful. By the time he’d returned, getting her hoodie off was all she’d managed to do, and she was sitting slumped over on the bed, elbows on her knees and her head hanging down. Turning and seeing her plastic wastebasket across the room, he tipped it upside down, emptying a flurry of used tissues and candy wrappers onto the floor. He set the wastebasket next to her bed.

“Drink this,” he said, holding the glass out for her. She took two small sips and handed it back.

Killian sighed. “The way you’re going to feel in the morning will almost be punishment enough. Now lie down and go to sleep.”

She tilted over, her head hitting the pillow and her feet still on the floor. With another sigh, Killian picked her legs up and put them on the bed, then pulled a blanket over her. He turned off the light and then pulled her desk chair over near the bed. Collapsing into the chair, he watched his daughter sleep.

~*~

Maureen walked down the stairs slowly, wet hair from her shower hanging in her eyes. Her head felt like glass that would shatter if she moved too suddenly, and her hands shook as she gripped the banister.

Her father was at the kitchen table, looking like he’d been waiting for her to appear. Maybe he’d been waiting all night, based on the dark circles under his eyes.

“I know I fucked up,” she said.

Her father stood up and walked over to the counter. “Sit down, I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Oh god, don’t make me eat.”

“Trust me, it will help.”

She eyed him. “So you’re not making me eat boiled mackerel as some kind of twisted punishment?”

He smirked. “Let’s start with some buttered toast, shall we?”

Maureen sank down at the table. “How much trouble am I in?”

He didn’t answer, busying himself with the toaster. She figured that was probably a bad sign.

“Did I throw up all over the downstairs bathroom last night?”

“The bathroom I cleaned at three o’clock this morning, you mean?” he asked, and Maureen put her head down on the table.

“I’m sorry.”

He was silent, his back to her as he fussed with the toast. Finally, he turned, putting the toast and a glass of water down in front of her. He sat down in his own seat and regarded her.

“First of all, you’re too young to drink.”

Maureen took the smallest bite of toast, her eyes unfocused and aimed at her plate.

“Second, did you get into a car with someone who had been drinking?” he asked.

She looked up, seeing her father’s jaw twitching in anger. “No, Ben walked me home. No one was driving, I swear.” 

“Third, it’s not safe for a girl to be wandering around at night without full control of her faculties. Who knows what could have happened to you? You could have fallen and injured yourself, you could have been raped, you could—”

“Dad, I was with Ben.”

“Oh, the sixteen-year-old boy who plied my young daughter with alcohol, that Ben? Forgive me if I’m not comforted by that fact.” He was making a fist on the table, and his knuckles had turned white.

“He’s not like that,” she said. She wanted to stand up for her friend, who had actually tried to stop her from drinking so much, who had insisted on walking her home when Maureen had realized the time and had been intent on setting off on her own, but she closed her mouth with a click of her teeth. 

“Fourth, sweetheart…” She looked up at him when he paused. His eyes were terribly sad; her father made the most heartbreakingly sad eyes sometimes. She hated it. “I’m worried about what you may have inherited from my side of the family. My father was a drunk. The wish realm version of me was a drunk.”

She frowned. “I thought that was because his heart got poisoned or whatever.”

“I myself have… struggled with drink at times in my long life.” He looked like he was about to say more about that, but then he stopped and ran his hand through his hair. “My point is, when you’re old enough to drink, you’ll have to be so careful. I won’t allow you to ruin your life. I won’t allow you to destroy everything good you’ve built with such idiotic behavior.”

Maureen was trying to be contrite and not make things worse for herself, but she couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “It was just this one time, Dad.”

“That’s how it starts.” He sighed. “Please promise me it won’t happen again.”

“I promise. I don’t see the point, if this is how you feel the next morning.” She sagged; just sitting up was exhausting. “Can I go back to bed?”

He glanced up at the clock. “You’ve already missed two hours of school, so I suppose you can.”

She winced. “I’m sorry.”

“You are grounded, by the way.”

“I figured.” She stood up from the table, carrying her water glass. “Thanks for… you know. Taking care of me.”

“I’ll always take care you, Maureen.”

~*~

The sound of the front door opening stirred Killian from his slumber. He lifted his head, and his cheek peeled away from the leather sofa cushion reluctantly. Squinting in the morning sunlight, he tried to orient himself in place and time.

“Hey, anybody home?” 

_Emma._ It was Saturday morning, and she had returned from Boston. Killian realized he was hidden by the tall back of the sofa, and she hadn’t seen him yet. Sitting all the way up, he turned to her. 

“Welcome back, love.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to bring his wife into focus.

“Aww, babe, did you fall asleep on the sofa last night?” She was pulling her shoes off at the door, using the handle of her suitcase to balance herself. 

Killian looked down and saw the whiskey bottle he’d emptied the night before at his feet. He pushed it under the sofa with his heel. “Our bed is too big without you in it, darling.” He stood to face her, hoping he didn’t look unsteady on his feet. “Did everything go all right in Boston?”

She sighed. “As well as it could. He’s gonna have to do community service, but it could be worse. I’m just glad to be home. Did everything go okay here?”

“Maureen…” He cleared his throat. He needed to tell Emma what had happened, but the shame of it overwhelmed him. His daughter had gotten drunk because he was a miserable father. Because she was burdened with his terrible genes. “Maureen broke her curfew Thursday night, and I had to ground her.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I swear, that girl. Sorry you had to deal with that on your own.”

“It was fine.”

“You don’t look so great. Are you feeling okay?” She moved closer to him like she was going to touch his forehead, looking for a fever. Killian took a step back.

“I’m fine, love, just sleep deprived.” He glanced at the clock. “You must’ve left Boston at the crack of dawn. I’m going to go shower, and then if you want, I can take you out to breakfast?”

Emma shook her head. “Nah, I ate on the road. I should probably go talk to Maureen about this curfew thing.” She squared her shoulders as if preparing herself for battle, and then slumped down just as quickly. “Or instead I could curl up on the sofa and watch TV all day.”

He gave her an encouraging smile. “Do that. She and I sorted it out; no need for you to pile on more recriminations.”

“Okay, if you say so.” 

Killian went over and pushed the button on the handle of Emma’s suitcase, telescoping it closed. “I’ll put this in the bedroom for you.”

“Thanks. Come snuggle with me after your shower?”

“All right.”

Killian walked up the stairs, past his daughter’s silent bedroom (at this time of day on a Saturday, there was no way she wasn’t still asleep), and into his own. He set the suitcase down before shutting himself in the bathroom and turning on the shower spray.

As the room filled up with steam, he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, a physical reaction to the self-loathing and shame that was burning in his chest. 

_How does this end, Killian?_ his inner voice said. He often imagined that his thoughts sounded like Liam when they were scolding him. Today Liam’s voice seemed particularly clear. _You can’t stop drinking. You tried, and you failed. How are you going to keep this hidden from your wife?_

“I don’t know,” he muttered out loud. “But how can I tell her?”

There was no answer forthcoming from his thoughts. He pulled his clothes off, stepping under the stream of hot water and closing the shower door. Killian hung his head, the water pelleting against the back of his neck and soothing the headache he’d awoken with. 

A sob bubbled up in his chest, and when he let it out, the sound of his voice seemed almost inhuman to his ears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a Millian flashback.

Emma came home early to an empty house Wednesday afternoon, which wasn’t terribly surprising. Although Maureen was required to come home immediately after school for the rest of this week and the next, Emma knew she had a creative writing club meeting and then chorus practice until five o’clock. She didn’t expect Killian until at least six.

Throwing the mail on the kitchen table, Emma set about doing some housework, figuring she could get something productive accomplished with her free afternoon. She carried a load of towels down to the basement and started the washer, then got the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and began sweeping the first floor. When the vacuum caught the corner of the coffee table, she grimaced and peered down at the leg, hoping she hadn’t marred the wood. That was the sort of thing she tended to do when she cleaned, leading to an exasperated exhale from her husband. 

Seeing that no damage had been done, she continued to move the vacuum around the living room a little more carefully, stopping herself from haphazardly shoving the nose of the vacuum under the front of the sofa. She used to end up with a vacuum cleaner bag full of Legos when she did that years ago, and although the Age of Lego was over in their house, she still preferred to check that she wasn’t vacuuming up something important.

Getting on her knees, Emma flipped the leather skirt up and bent down, intent on her task. She swept her hand under the front of the sofa, frowning as several pens and pencils and some candy wrappers made an appearance. She smirked; Maureen may have gotten her hair and eyes from her dad, but she definitely came by her messiness from Emma.

Continuing her sweep, Emma’s hand collided with what felt like a bottle, and she gripped the smooth, rounded glass and pulled it out. She frowned at it. It was an empty whiskey bottle, the brand she used to buy to make herself an evening cocktail now and then before she’d decided the calories weren’t worth it. Standing up, Emma carried it over to the kitchen and opened the cabinet where they kept liquor. 

It was completely empty.

She looked at the bottle again. She’d seen it in this cabinet what couldn’t have been more than a month ago, and it had been close to full. Now here it was, and someone had drunk it dry.

The memory of Saturday morning popped into her head. She’d returned from Boston to find Killian asleep on that very sofa, his cheek red from being pressed against the leather, his eyes bloodshot with what she thought was exhaustion. The morning when, although he hadn’t seen her for two days, the most affectionate man in Storybrooke hadn’t hugged her. He hadn’t come anywhere near her, not until he’d appeared downstairs later, freshly showered and tasting of toothpaste.

Emma felt the surreal sensation of walking in a dream as she made her way out the back door and to the shed where they kept the recycling bin. 

If she expected to find it full of liquor bottles, she was mistaken. There was little in it save a few empty cans of tomato sauce and black beans, and a couple of plastic bottles of the flavored tea Maureen liked to pick up on her way home from school. She dropped the whiskey bottle into it and left the shed.

Passing the garbage cans against the house, she stopped. She put her hand on the lid, preparing to lift it, and realized in that moment what her actions really meant: that she suspected her husband was hiding evidence of his drinking. Surely she was overreacting, she thought. One empty bottle and some odd behavior, and suddenly her mind was creating a huge issue out of nothing. Who knows how long that bottle had been under there? Maybe she and Regina had polished it off years ago in a drunken binge that she’d since forgotten. _And then Killian overlooked it the countless times he vacuumed under the sofa? Unlikely,_ her traitorous brain responded.

Emma took a step backward, shaking her head. She wasn’t going to root through the trash, that was crazy. It was the worst kind of paranoid wife behavior, and she was not that kind of person. She trusted Killian. She didn’t go digging through his garbage.

With a frustrated groan, she grabbed the lid off of the trash can, moving aside the kitchen garbage bag on top that Maureen had taken out this morning before school. A similar white bag was below it, and underneath that, a crumpled paper sack.

She lifted the sack, and glass clinked inside.

~*~

When her daughter came home, Emma was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing.

“Hey, Mom.”

Emma looked up and gave her a forced smile. “Hey, baby.” She swallowed, praying that she wouldn’t start crying in front of Maureen. “I was thinking about ordering pizza for dinner. Any requests?”

“Umm, mushroom and black olive?”

“Sure thing.” Emma picked up her phone, tapping away to place the order. “Do you have a lot of homework tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta work on an English essay.”

“Okay, I’ll let you know when the pizza gets here.” Her hand holding the phone trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She felt like she was going to scream if she sat here waiting another minute.

“Are you okay, Mom?” 

“I’m just tired.” 

Six o’clock came and went, and Killian didn’t appear. 

When the pizza arrived, Emma put a piece on her plate but didn’t eat it, allowing Maureen to take hers to her room, hoping she wouldn’t notice anything was amiss, hoping she wouldn’t ask again if Emma was okay. 

Darkness settled over the house, and Emma settled into a chair next to the front window to wait. She checked his location on her phone, and it told her that Killian was still at the sheriff’s station. She thought about calling him, but she wasn’t sure if she heard his voice if she could keep her emotions in check. 

Her heart started to pound when his car slowed to a stop in front of the house. Even now, she wondered if there was a reasonable explanation for everything, one that didn’t end with the conclusion that somehow Killian had become an alcoholic and she hadn’t noticed.

He let himself in the front door, but Emma didn’t look at him. “Sorry I’m late, love, I was catching up on some work at the station.” He paused. “What are you doing sitting in the dark, Swan?”

Emma stood, walked over to her husband, and kissed him on the lips. “You could have texted,” she said very evenly.

“I didn’t realize how late it had gotten; I apologize. I hope you weren’t worried.”

“The breath mints don’t hide it, you know.”

Fear flashed in his eyes for a moment before he schooled his face. “Don’t hide—”

“How much did you drink before you got behind the wheel of your car, Killian?”

Another flash of fear. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t. Don’t lie to me, please.” Turning, she headed toward the back of the house.

“Where are you going?”

She didn’t answer, and she thought for a second that he wouldn’t follow her, that he would just let her storm out, but then she heard his footsteps behind her and he caught her arm. “Swan—”

“I don’t want to to do this inside the house where Maureen might hear,” she said through clenched teeth, pulling her arm from his grasp. She led him out to the shed behind the house, the one where once, long ago, he’d hidden those damnable shears that would have severed her from her destiny as the Savior. 

Grabbing up the bag of empty liquor bottles from where she’d stashed it earlier, she shoved it at him. Not saying anything. Not asking him to explain.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. 

“How long have you been drinking like this, Killian? Hiding the evidence, driving drunk—”

“I’m not drunk—”

“How long?”

His chin dropped. “I don’t know. A few months. I managed to stop for a little while, but… I failed.”

“Why? You’re close the three hundred years old, you’ve been a drinker for most of that time, why is this suddenly—”

“Yes exactly, Swan, I’ve been a drinker. You used to share the spoils from my flask when it suited you. You should have been under no illusion about who I was and how much I drank,” he spat, anger flaring in his expression. 

His sudden attack set her back on her heels. “But you were… I don’t know. You were a fairy tale pirate from a fairy tale world.” He exhaled sharply at that, crossing his arms. “And anyway, it wasn’t like _this_. It wasn’t… emptying the liquor cabinet and hiding the bottles.”

Killian’s barked laugh was like a knife against her throat. “I was drunk the night of that first damnable marriage proposal, Swan, and you didn’t care enough to notice—”

“I can’t _believe_ you’re still holding that against me after two decades. I thought we forgave each other years ago for all of that, but you’re still holding onto your resentment at me for—”

“I’m just saying, _you knew_. You knew my failings when you married me.”

“But… you’ve been fine!” The sudden thought that maybe he hadn’t been struck her; could she have been missing the signs of a serious drinking problem for their entire relationship? Their entire marriage? No, it couldn’t be. “You stopped carrying a flask, you didn’t drink any more than I did after we got married. Did you?”

“No, you have the right of it, Swan, I was so damned happy for so long, I left my oldest friends to gather dust in the backs of drawers.” He pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket and threw it on the workbench, where it skidded to a stop against a stack of old paint cans.

“And now… what? I don’t make you happy anymore? Maureen and I aren’t enough for you?”

“This isn’t about you, Emma.” He ran his hand over his face in frustration. “Not everything is about you.”

“Fuck you, it’s not about me!” she shouted. “I’m your wife, and if you’re an alcoholic then it’s about me. If you’re out endangering the lives of people in this town by driving drunk, if you’re drinking on the job that _I entrusted to you_ —”

“The job you were bored with, you mean?”

“—then it’s about me. If you’re home alone with our daughter, passed out on the sofa, then—”

“I can’t do this,” he muttered. “Can you yell at me tomorrow? Just… perhaps I’ll have the strength for this tomorrow, and you may feel free to resume your attacks then.” He turned to walk out of the shed.

“So, what, you think we can just press pause and go to bed?” She felt a stab of guilt at the fact that she’d been kicking him while he was down. But what was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to react?

“The bed is yours, my dear, I won’t force you to share it with me tonight.” His voice dripped with exhausted anger. He began to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Emma asked, her voice sounding thin and strained and sort of desperate.

“I’ll sleep on my ship,” he said without turning back to look at her. “Since I’m just a fairy tale pirate.”

“Killian, I didn’t mean it that way.” She couldn’t believe this was happening. Literally twelve hours ago, if asked she would have said that her marriage was fine, that it was happy. The rapidity with which it was crumbling was shocking. It was ludicrous. “You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to go.” She stared at his back, at the hunch of his shoulders, willing him to turn around. 

“I think it would be better for both of us if I do. Don’t fret; I’ll walk there.”

Once he was gone, Emma stood staring at the empty space he’d occupied for what felt like hours before she numbly went back into their house, alone.

~*~

_The sight of Milah curled up on their bunk, hair obscuring her face and cascading down toward the floor, made his heart sink._

_“Franklin sighted a pod of whales on the horizon, love,” he said as he descended the ladder into the captain’s quarters. “You should come above deck and see them.”_

_She didn’t respond. Her head was hanging halfway off the mattress, arm flung over the side of the bunk, fingernails trailing back and forth over the handle of one of the drawers._

_Killian walked over and shifted the tumble of brown curls away from her face. “Come on, darling. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and the water is sparkling in the sunlight like diamonds.”_

_“It’s too bright, then,” she finally said, her voice raspy with disuse. “And I’ve seen whales before.”_

_The evidence of their revels the previous evening littered his quarters. The cask of rum they’d emptied together rolled against the corner of the room as the ship bobbed, one of Milah’s corsets flung on the floor beside it. Last night she had been a jovial delight, all sparkling laughter and sensuality. The rum and her body had inflamed him, and lewd, fractured memories flashed behind his eyes even now as he caressed her hair and tried to figure out how to unchain her from this melancholy._

_This happened to Milah sometimes after a night of drinking. It was more than a simple hangover, or it was a sort of hangover of spirit, perhaps. As if she was pinned under a heavy weight that she didn’t know how to shift, she’d said, or like she’d been poisoned by a paralyzing toxin. On days like this, she’d lay abed, not sleeping. Allowing every self-recriminatory thought to flow in and take the place of the rum as it receded from her blood._

_Killian sat on the edge of the bed, his hand trailing down to her bare shoulder. “Tell me what I can bring you, love. Anything, and if it’s within my power to obtain it, it’s yours.”_

_“I don’t require anything.”_

_At times like this, he wondered if taking this woman aboard a pirate ship, a floating storehouse of rum, had been the worst possible thing for her. Yes, she’d been miserable in her marriage; yes, they were in love; yes, she adored the adventure and the lawlessness and the freedom of piracy. When they overtook another ship, when her eyes would light up at the resulting spoils, her happiness bubbling up — she was a glass of the finest champagne and he wanted to drink every drop. But the happiness was fleeting; darkness lurked in the corners of her eyes, just as it did in his own._

_He supposed they were made for each other._

_Milah closed her eyes and a tear rolled down the side of her nose, dripping onto the floor._

~*~

The morning found him sitting at his table in the captain’s quarters of his ship, lost in distant memory as he slowly sipped rum from yet another flask. He wasn’t drunk, just maintaining a steady numbness to combat his terror over the things Emma had said. The things he’d said to Emma.

When the sun had risen high enough on the horizon, he left his quarters, noticing with yet another rush of shame the state of the _Jolly Roger_. Ropes which had come loose during a winter storm the previous season littered the deck like malevolent, frozen snakes. The paint on the gunwale, once bright and cheerfully yellow, was now faded with time and inattention. He wondered sometimes if perhaps she’d been in this land without magic for too long and her enchantment was fading. Or perhaps it was a reflection of his own soul, the way he’d let his ship so gradually fade into disrepair. 

Killian walked back to his house, finding it still and silent as a grave. He shook himself at such maudlin thoughts; it was simply a normal weekday. His daughter was at school and his wife was at work. He considered briefly showering and going to the station, trying to pretend for the moment that his world wasn’t crumbling down around him, but he found that course of action impossible to contemplate.

After dashing off a quick message to Philip that he wasn’t coming in, Killian got behind the wheel of his car. He stared unseeing at the dashboard, fear crawling up his spine and making sweat break out on his face. Today felt like a point on which everything in his life was going to pivot. Either he would let cowardice rule him, or maybe if some small sliver of bravery still existed in him, some tiny fragment of heroism, maybe he could cling to that.

He cranked the engine of his car, put it into gear, and pulled away from the house.

The Charming’s farm was had grown into a busy place in the years since they’d moved there. When Killian pulled up, he saw that the two farmhands that David employed part-time were already here, no doubt preparing for spring planting or harvesting eggs from Snow’s increasingly sizable brood of chickens. Snow White herself would likely be at the mayor’s office this morning, but her husband worked full time on the farm, and Killian headed toward the barn to seek him out.

“Killian!” David called as he set down a bale of hay, giving him a happy smile as he made his way over. “What brings you out?”

“I…” He stopped and swallowed on a dry throat. “I was wondering if you had a moment to talk.”

Dusting his hands off, David turned to his helper. “Mike, can you finish this up? I’ll be back in a little while. Come on up to the house,” he said to Killian. “I think there’s some coffee left.”

The kitchen was warm and homey, counters cluttered with canisters of flour and sugar and some of the canned jams that had become one of Snow’s projects. Killian took a seat at the table, nodding his thanks to David when he put a cup of coffee in front of him. “I take it you haven’t spoken to Emma,” Killian said.

“Not since day before yesterday, why?” David said as he took the seat opposite.

He took a deep breath and let it out. “We had a fight.” He shook his head. “No, that trivializes it, makes it sound like she was cross because I failed to take out the garbage. I…” He didn’t know how to say it, how to confess his failings to this man who had forgiven him so much already. “I’ve ruined things, perhaps irreparably.”

“I can’t believe that’s true. What happened?”

“I’ve… I’ve allowed my drinking to…” Getting the words out was causing him literal pain, and his face flushed with shame as he rotated the coffee mug in his hands. “I believe what I’m supposed to confess in this realm is that I’m an alcoholic.”

David stared at him, a stunned expression on his face.

“And before you say it, yes, I’ve always been a drinker,” Killian continued. “Yes, I’ve struggled with it before, and no, it hasn’t been as much of an issue for me since Emma and I married. Until recently.”

“What happened recently?”

Killian shrugged, and even the act of lifting his shoulders seemed exhausting. “I don’t know. Nothing. Or everything — a thousand tiny cuts.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“When Liam and I were young, before the Navy when we were still indentured servants, that was when I discovered rum.” Killian sipped from his coffee, his eyes fixed down on the surface of the table. “My back might have been screaming from a recent lashing, my arms leaden from carrying barrels to and from the ship for hours, my heart heavy from the thought of being at the beck and call of a captain who truly didn’t care if I lived or died. But I could swallow enough of that elixir that it would dull the pain both within and without. How could I not chase that sense of well-being? How could I not seek it out again and again?

“I almost ruined our chances at a better life. When I gave up drinking that first time, it was for Liam. He was my north star, and I pinned everything to him. I straightened myself out for him.”

“And then he died,” David said.

“Aye, and then he died, and the source of all my guiding principles was gone. Again, I turned to rum as a way to dull the pain. But I was making myself over into a pirate by then, so marinating in rum sort of came with the territory. 

“When you met me, not much had changed as far as my bad habits went. I’d suffered other terrible losses — Milah, my hand — and I let my obsession with revenge stagnate me, aided by the magic of Neverland. I did terrible things, as you well know.”

“This isn’t a referendum on all your past mistakes, Killian.”

Killian pressed on. He felt like he had to get all of it out before he lost his nerve. “In retrospect, I suppose it had become a deeply ingrained pattern, using rum to ease my pain. I drank to mourn when I believed that your daughter would never love me the way I loved her. I drank when she was the Dark One, and when she kept the prophecy of her death a secret from me. But I suppose I imagined when I married her that life would be easy from there on out, and drinking would never be a problem for me again.”

“But life doesn’t work like that,” David said.

Killian looked up to see if he was being chided, but he saw only sympathy in David’s eyes. “No, life doesn’t work like that. You get old, and you start to question if the thing you do day in and day out is something you even care about. You watch your daughter growing up and you wonder if she’ll ever love you the way she did when she was little. And you… I…” He took an unsteady breath, tears burning behind his eyes. “I sought solace from those things in the worst place imaginable. When I have a wife as miraculous as your daughter.” 

“Emma’s going to stand by you, you know. You may have fought, but she’s the most stubborn woman I know, and she loves you.”

Killian’s eyes slid closed. He felt tears run down his cheeks and he made no move to wipe them away. “I’m weak, David. I’ve always been weak. I rely on other people to be strong, the people I love. But my devotion isn’t strength. It’s… parasitism.”

“Wow, okay. I’ve watched your and Emma’s partnership for all these years, and never once did I ever think you were a parasite.” David reached out and put his hand on top of Killian’s. “Relying on people you love isn’t weakness. And if you’re going to beat this, I would imagine relying on the people you love is probably a necessity.”

The simple touch of the other man’s hand made Killian’s tears continue to flow. “What if I can’t beat this?” he whispered.

“Does it help if I tell you that I believe you can?”


	6. Chapter 6

After Killian left, Emma went through the motions of her evening, going so far as to get into bed when it was bedtime. As if she would be able to sleep. By the time morning came, she’d slept fitfully for a few minutes here and there, reliving the argument over and over, trying in her half-dream state to make it go differently. To make it so Killian wouldn’t leave. To make it so that she hadn’t driven him away.

When dawn broke, she was staring at the ceiling, wondering where she’d failed him.

“Where’s Dad?” Maureen asked when she stomped downstairs in her ever-present hoodie and school uniform.

“He had to go into the station early today,” Emma lied easily. 

Maureen didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss. “I’ll be home right after school,” she said. “Bye.”

Emma didn’t have any appointments until the afternoon, but she didn’t think she could spend another second in her quiet house, so she left for the office. Only coffee and her frayed nerves kept her from dozing off during the short drive into town.

Planning to hole up inside her office for the morning and maybe grab a nap on the sofa, a place she didn’t associate with Killian, Emma collided with Archie in the hall.

“Oops, sorry, Emma,” he said as he caught her arms. “How are you this morning?”

She didn’t say anything, didn’t burst into tears, but clearly, her facial expression told him enough. “Do you need to talk? I have time right now.”

She just nodded, and let herself be led into his office. Alexandra was there too, but when Archie asked if she needed to talk to him alone, Emma shook her head. She wasn’t even one of Archie’s regular patients anymore; what right did she have to send his trainee out of the room?

It took only a few minutes to relay to him what had happened, and the way she’d reacted. All of the righteous anger she’d felt the night before at how badly Killian had screwed up was gone, replaced by sadness.

“And you had no idea until yesterday that he had a drinking problem?” Archie asked.

“I… no. I mean, not like this. I knew he had problems with drinking in the distant past, but everything seemed fine,” she said.

“So as far as you knew, he wasn’t drinking at all,” Archie said. “He was hiding it from you.”

“Well, no, not exactly. I mean, he was still drinking, but it wasn’t an issue.” Emma frowned. “Wait, that’s not exactly right — he told me recently he wanted to stop, but he said it was because he wanted to get healthier.”

“Perhaps he knew he had a problem then, he just wasn’t ready to tell you,” Archie suggested.

“Yeah, and why didn’t he trust me enough to tell me? After all these years and everything we’ve been through?” Emma asked.

“I’m sure because he wanted to protect you, Emma; you can sympathize with that.” Archie gave her a kind smile. “It’s not an easy thing to admit.”

“And I made things a hundred times worse by going on the offensive, I know.” She didn’t need a therapist to tell her that she’d said all the wrong things. She knew that. “I need to make this right with him.”

“I’m certain you will. You two are one of the strongest couples I know,” Archie said. “I would be happy to set up regular sessions with both of you, either alone or as a couple or both.”

Emma nodded.

She’d almost forgotten that Alexandra was sitting in the corner of the room until she spoke up. “Even after all these years, the effects of the dark curse are still being felt,” the young woman said.

Emma smiled at Alexandra, who was too young to remember the curse. “You may not know this, but Killian was never cursed. He came to Storybrooke later.”

“Oh, I know. I just mean, Storybrooke still operates in ways so unlike the outside world, and I think it may have done your husband a disservice in this case.”

Crossing her arms, Emma eyed the young woman. “What does that mean?”

Alexandra sighed. “It’s something I’ve talked about with other kids of cursed parents; those of us who were among the first generation to grow up here. When you go and live on the outside, you realize how differently people who’ve committed crimes against society get treated in the world beyond our city limits. Storybrooke has an enormous capacity to forgive and forget. People like Regina, Zelena, and even your husband, they’d have been in prison on the outside. Which wouldn’t be a good thing!” she added quickly when Emma started to interrupt. “They were forgiven and they became heroes. Productive and honored members of society.”

“Still not seeing your point,” Emma said.

“Look, Emma, you grew up out there, and you had relationships. If you had met a guy on the outside who you knew had had a drinking problem for most of his life, would you assume that being in love with you would fix it? That just because he met his happily-ever-after winning conditions, a wife and a kid or whatever, that drinking would never be an issue for him again?”

Emma bristled at being called out by this therapist-in-training. She’d changed Alexandra’s diapers a few times, for fuck’s sake.

Alexandra didn’t seem bothered by the lack of an answer. “Because all of Killian’s crimes were forgiven, because he was sort of given a do-over on life — and again, I’m not saying that was a bad thing — other problems he might have had were sort of swept under the rug, as if they wouldn’t be problems for new-and-improved hero Killian Jones.”

“That’s a very interesting insight, Alexandra,” Archie said, looking back and forth between the two women. 

“So you’re saying I should have known he was an alcoholic,” Emma said flatly, fuming at what felt like an accusation.

“I’m saying it’s possible there was evidence you didn’t want to see.” Alexandra tilted her head to the side and gave Emma a half-smile. “Even during the time when you say it wasn’t an issue. Even when he was handling it. Did he still drink more than most people you know? Was alcohol part of every celebratory dinner, every evening out? Did he still occasionally do what would technically be classified as binge drinking?”

“Alexandra did her senior thesis on substance abuse,” Archie said, beaming at his protege. 

“Well, that’s great, good for her,” Emma bit out. “By that measure, then maybe I’m an alcoholic, too.”

Alexandra shook her head. “Those things by themselves don’t make you an alcoholic, but together with other indicators they may point to someone being a high-functioning alcoholic.”

Sighing heavily, Emma dropped her head back against the sofa, too tired to argue. Besides, she could hear a little voice in her head pointing out that Alexandra, while perhaps an annoying know-it-all on the subject, was right. “Fine. So what do I do now?”

~*~

Killian’s finger paused over his phone for a long time before he finally typed out a text to Emma.

_Have you said anything to Maureen yet?_

After a long pause, long enough that he wondered if she might refuse to respond to him at all, Emma replied. _No._

Killian: _Would you mind if I pick her up after school so that I can talk to her?_

Emma: _What are you going to tell her?_

Killian: _The truth._

There was another long pause. _Ok. Will you come home tonight?_ Emma finally responded.

 _If I may_ , he typed at first, but then deleted it. _I’d like to_ , he finally responded.

Emma: _Come home_.

It wasn’t an open-hearted profession of love and forgiveness, but he’d take it. 

He drove over to the school a few minutes before classes were dismissed and watched for his daughter to leave the building. When she finally appeared in the company of two friends, he watched her carefully. The way her sloppy ponytail was coming loose, and the casual slump of her shoulders as she stood there, not yet comfortable with her height or her womanly figure, and the way she opened her mouth very wide when she laughed at someone’s joke. 

Killian had loved very deeply in his life, but nothing was like the love he'd felt for his daughter since the first time she was placed in his arms as a wriggling, squalling infant. Somehow she had grown into this intelligent, passionate girl in the blink of an eye.

He honked the horn as she approached on the sidewalk, waving out of the driver’s side window with his hook to get her attention. 

Maureen came over to the car with a frown on her face. “What are you doing here?”

He gestured to the other side of the car. “Get in. We’re going for a ride.”

With a skeptical expression, Maureen did as he asked. “A ride where?” she said when she was buckled into the passenger seat.

Killian put the car in reverse and backed out of his parking space. “Just a spot where we can talk.”

“Dad, you don’t need to lecture me about drinking again, believe me—”

“I’m not going to lecture you.”

She was looking over at him with wide eyes. “I swear, I’m not dating anyone—”

“It’s not about that either,” he said as he turned toward the harbor.

“Oh my god, is someone sick? Dad, are you sick? Or dying? Is Mom dying?”

“No one is dying, love, calm down.”

“Sorry, this is just really weird. I can’t remember the last time you picked me up at school.”

He smiled. “I think it was just before you insisted that you were old enough to walk there on your own. You came to us with a map to demonstrate that you knew the way, do you remember that?”

“Yeah, I remember.” He glanced over and saw her lips were quirked up in an almost-smile. “You said it was the pirate in me.”

Killian pulled up at the docks and turned the car off. He unbuckled his seat belt but made no move to exit the car.

“Dad, what are we doing down here?” Maureen said as she took her own seat belt off.

He sighed, looking through the windshield at the masts of his ship. “I thought the _Jolly Roger_ might give me the courage to talk about this with you.”

“Is this another sex talk? Because seriously, you guys have already been way more thorough—”

“Sweetheart, I’m an alcoholic,” he said without looking at her.

Maureen paused for a beat. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

“I lied to you, the morning after you came home inebriated. A lie of omission, anyway. I haven’t just struggled with a drinking problem in my past. I’m struggling with it now.” He clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

“How long since you’ve had a drink?”

The laugh that came out of his mouth was dark and humorless. “What time is it?”

“Oh,” she said again. “Does Mom know?”

“As of yesterday, yes, she does.” He swallowed with difficulty. “I’m so sorry, Maureen.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize to _me_ for. It’s not like I found you passed out on the floor, or like you’ve been driving me around while you’re hammered… have you?”

“No, I haven’t, but it has no doubt affected you. I would have been a better father were it not for this.”

Maureen just shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“I am going to do everything I can to stop drinking, I promise you. The last thing in the world I want to be is a disappointment to my daughter.”

“Dad, you’re not a disappointment. Not that this isn’t a serious problem, but it’s a pretty common problem. It’s… I don’t know. It’s normal.” She chuckled uneasily. “That’s strangely refreshing.”

That was definitely not what he’d expected her to say. “ _Refreshing_?”

“Yeah. My whole life you’ve been this capital-H hero, you and mom both. With your epic battles and true love and all that. It’s kind of a relief to know you’re a normal human.”

“Of course I’m a normal human,” he said, unsure whether to be relieved that Maureen wasn’t upset or to be affronted by her implication. “Why would you think I’m not a normal human?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Dad, maybe the fact that fucking Zeus—”

“Language.”

“—fricking Zeus brought you back from the dead. Or that you don’t know how old you are, but it’s definitely more than two _centuries_?” She gestured toward the _Jolly_. “Or the fact that you’ve got an enchanted pirate ship?”

He smiled sadly. “You loved that ship when you were little.”

Maureen didn’t acknowledge that, caught in the torrent of her own words. “My whole life, I’ve heard all these stories about the dark curse and Neverland and beanstalks and evil fairies. You guys have all of this history that I’m not a part of.”

“Of course you’re a part of it, love—”

“I’m not, Dad. Yeah, I’ve seen people doing magic — I spent my childhood running to Mom to get my skinned knees healed — but if it weren’t for that, I’d almost think this was all some vast conspiracy to make me believe in fairy tales.”

“Darling, those years in the past that you’re talking about, they were hard. They were traumatic for all of us, and my unhealthy habits with rum went hand-in-hand with that trauma a lot of the time. And as you pointed out, I died. Your mother’s life was constantly under threat. We fought, and we won, and our reward was being able to bring a daughter into this world without worrying that she might be stolen away from us. Our reward was being able to live and raise you in peace,” Killian said.

“Yeah, I get that, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me. Like, growing up in Henry’s shadow. My exalted, perfect older brother.”

“In Henry’s _shadow_?” Killian was shocked. He’d never heard Maureen express any of these feelings before. Had she really been carrying all of this around her whole life?

“Uh-huh. The Author. The ‘Truest Believer.’ Breaker of curses. Adventurer to other realms. How can I live up to any of that? The most interesting thing about me is that I like girls. Oh, but wait, there’s already another Hook out there with a gay daughter, so even that’s not unique. I am literally the least interesting person in Storybrooke. I can’t do magic, I’ve never lived in a castle, I’ve never killed anyone in a desperate battle of good against evil, I’m just... ordinary. I’m whatever the opposite of the truest believer is. The… weakest believer.” She grimaced, squinting an eye closed.

Killian took a deep breath. “You’re my daughter, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re the most miraculous person who has ever existed.”

Maureen rolled her eyes. “You have to say that, you’re my dad.”

“Maybe so, but love, you seem to have written off your life as ordinary when you’re only fourteen. Almost fifteen,” he added quickly when she started to open her mouth to correct him. “You have your whole life ahead of you to pursue your dreams and turn your life into something extraordinary.”

“I don’t even know what my dreams _are_ ,” she muttered.

“Well, you have time to figure it out. For now, all you have to do is come home at the end of the day, and your mother and I will continue to love you more than we can ever begin to articulate.”

Maureen fiddled with the zipper on her hoodie, her eyes downcast. Killian just waited. He wanted to continue to reassure her that she was far from ordinary, but he kept his mouth closed, allowing her the time to process what he’d said.

“I’m sorry I turned your big confession into my thing,” she finally said.

“Never apologize for confiding your feelings to me.”

She inhaled and let her breath out, and he could hear a hitch in it. “It’s why I was so angry about that ball grandma wants to have. It seemed like one more thing from that world you all came from that I can’t touch. I know it’s all real, but it still feels like a story.”

“Grandma just wants to have a party where she can shower some attention on her only granddaughter. And I’ll admit, I do like the idea of sharing a dance with you. But it doesn’t have to be a ball. It can be something else.”

“No, it’s fine,” she sighed. “I’ve pretty much resigned myself to the ball.”

He leaned over the center console and pulled her into a hug. He felt a brief hesitation before her arms went around him and squeezed. “I love you, my girl.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt, making her sound like a little girl again. He almost sobbed at the rush of nostalgia it brought on. “Can we go home now?”

“Aye,” he said as she pulled away from him. “Let’s go home.”

~*~

When Emma walked in the front door, she was greeted with the sight of Killian and Maureen cooking together.

“Hey,” she said, nearly vibrating with anxiety, intensely curious about what had been said between her husband and her daughter. Intensely curious what would be said between herself and Killian as soon as she could get him alone.

She could see the depth of worry in Killian’s eyes when he met hers. “Hello, love. We started dinner, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” She watched for a few minutes as Maureen laid lasagna noodles in a pan, then Killian added sauce, then Maureen added cheese. They were working like a well-oiled machine, and it occurred to her that the last time she’d witnessed a scene like this, Maureen had needed to stand on a stepstool. 

Once the lasagna was assembled and in the oven, Maureen looked back and forth between her parents. “I’m gonna go upstairs.”

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready,” Killian said to his daughter, his eyes on Emma.

They stared at each other until they heard Maureen’s door shut. 

“Your talk must’ve gone well,” Emma said.

“I’m so sorry, Emma. The way I’ve behaved with you was unforgivable.”

“No, it wasn’t. And I was worse. You needed support and I just attacked you.”

All it took was one tiny shift forward of one of his feet and they were moving toward each other. Emma fell into him, arms going around his neck to hold him tight. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

“I should have talked to you,” he muttered against her cheek, and Emma pulled back enough to see his face. “I don’t know why I didn’t.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “No, that’s not true. I was ashamed. And I thought I could handle it on my own.”

“We’re always stronger as a team, Killian.”

He gave her a thin-lipped smile. “You’d think I would know that by now.”

“Yes, you should.” She sighed. “But my instinct on discovering evidence you had a problem should not have been to lash out at you for it.”

“No, your reaction was understandable.” Killian’s eyes were downcast, lashes heavy, and she felt his fingers grip harder on her waist. “I’m sorry I’m so weak.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re one of the strongest people I know.” Emma combed her fingers through his hair, blinking back tears. “But this is more than you can carry by yourself, and I’m here to help you. Anything you need.” She thought about the remaining alcohol in the house, her eyes straying over toward the small wine rack in the kitchen. She’d have to get rid of all of it, she thought, and couldn’t help but feel a tiny swell of resentment at the need to change her own lifestyle to accommodate Killian. 

He seemed to read her mind. “You can still drink, love, there’s no reason for you to alter your habits. You’re not the one with the problem.”

Emma shook her head firmly. “If it makes it easier for you, not having it in the house, then it’s worth it. It’s the least I can do. I should have realized this years ago, apparently. By the way, if you’re going to start going to therapy again, you probably wouldn’t go wrong seeing Alexandra.”

Killian’s eyebrows went up. “Ashley and Sean’s daughter?”

“I know, I know, all the kids in this town are grown up now; it’s really annoying.” She absently scraped her nails against the back of his neck in a soothing gesture. “Speaking of which, what did you say to Maureen?”

“Like I said, I told her the truth. I told her I’m an alcoholic.”

Hearing the word come out of Killian’s mouth so matter-of-factly made Emma tense, which Killian didn’t fail to notice.

“I’ve said it three times now,” he said, his breath hitching. “It’s getting a tiny bit easier.”

Emma hugged him again, pride and love for him swelling in her chest. “What did she say?” she asked, pulling back to study his face again.

“She took it incredibly well.” He gazed into her eyes. “Our daughter is pretty wonderful; were you aware?”

She grinned. “So is her father.”


	7. Chapter 7

Killian was so lost in the mundane rhythm of patching a long tear in the mainsail, heavy needle and coarse thread weaving in and out, up and down, that he didn’t notice Snow White had boarded his ship until she was almost standing on top of him.

“Snow,” he said, looking up from his seat on the deck, shielding his eyes from the sun. “What brings you down to the harbor?”

“Emma said you’d be hard at work on the _Jolly_ , and I thought you might need something to eat,” she said, lifting the basket she was carrying. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he demurred, but then he noticed that he was, in fact, a bit famished. “Although I do appreciate it.”

Snow surveyed his task with a raised eyebrow. The sail was partially spread out across the deck, which only began to give an impression of its true scale. “This is a huge job. Couldn’t Emma use magic to help you?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, but for now, I don’t need to trouble her. Besides, there’s something soothing about the labor.” Gazing out over the prow, he added, “and I feel like it’s a debt I owe my ship.” He set aside the section of sail he was working on as Snow laid a stadium blanket on an empty spot and began unpacking her basket. It quickly became clear she’d brought enough food for twelve people.

Snow surveyed her banquet with a critical eye. “Yes, okay, I brought too much.”

“Especially given that I’m trying to drop a few pounds,” he said, patting his stomach as he seated himself next to her on the blanket. 

“Oh please, you look better than you have in years,” Snow said. “None of us are as thin as we were when we were young.”

“Aye, but I was young for a very, very long time,” he said with a wink. Picking up a slice of cheese, he took a bite. “As to my looking better, a month without alcohol will do that.”

Snow smiled and reached out, gripping his hook as if he could feel the pressure of her fingers. “I’m so proud of you.”

Killian grimaced, looking down at her hand curled around the curved metal. “I don’t know if it’s anything to be proud of. I should have done it years ago.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is today, and every day from here on out. That’s all you can do, right? Take it day by day?”

Killian swallowed against a lump in his throat. “Aye. Thank you.”

Snow looked up at the ropes crisscrossing over their heads. “So what’s on your to-do list? What do you have to do to make her seaworthy?”

Chewing and swallowing a bite of apple, Killian let his head fall back to follow his mother-in-law’s gaze. “Replace much of the rigging with fresh rope, mend the sails, repaint… It’s a long list.”

“Well, David and I can give you a hand anytime you need it; all you have to do is ask. And I’m sure a lot of people in Storybrooke would be willing to pitch in.”

As if on cue, Maureen appeared at the top of the gangplank, hopping down onto the deck in an old t-shirt and cut-off shorts. Killian bit his tongue, remembering the lecture he’d gotten from Emma once when he’d scolded Maureen for showing off too much skin. After the earful he got from his wife about putting the blame for men’s behavior onto the way women choose to dress, he’d learned his lesson about saying anything on the topic.

“Oh my god, there’s food? I’d have gotten down here earlier if I’d known there was food!” Maureen bounced over and dropped onto the blanket next to her grandmother. She crossed her legs, shorts riding up higher on her thighs.

Killian glared. Not that it made being confronted with his daughter’s womanly appearance any easier to take. With a sigh, he averted his gaze from Maureen and focused on his lunch.

“So, I heard there’s been a breakthrough on what you’re wearing next weekend to the ball,” Snow said in an almost sing-songy voice.

Maureen took the nudging from Snow with surprising grace and only a small sigh. “Yeah, I found something to wear that isn’t completely awful.”

“I’m so glad!” her grandmother enthused. “Now we just have to see about getting your hair done.”

Killian looked up to see if that would get a rise out of his daughter, but she remained placid. “Yeah, I was thinking purple this time. What do you think, Grandma?”

Snow huffed. “I think your natural hair color is a lovely shade of brown not unlike my own once was, but you do what you want.”

When they were finished polishing off as much of the food as they could, Snow packed the leftovers up. “I’ve gotta run,” Snow said, her hand settling on Killian’s shoulder, “but will you call us to come help the next time you’re planning a day to work out here? We could make it a family project!”

Uncertain if he would prefer the controlled chaos of the whole Charming clan climbing all over his ship to the calming solitude of working alone, Killian summoned a smile. Perhaps in small doses, it would be nice. “I will.”

Snow kissed him on the cheek. “Take care.”

After he’d helped Snow down the gangplank, Killian returned to his daughter. “Can I pull down more of the old rigging?” she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Aye, if you wear the safety harness.” 

She rolled her eyes, but there was no malice behind it. “Yes, Dad.” Then her grin widened. “Hey, didn’t you notice?”

He was already gazing up, determining the best place for his daughter to begin her task. “Notice what?”

“This.”

Killian dropped his gaze and saw that Maureen was pointing to her nose, where she’d replaced the diamond stud with a small gold hoop. 

“I thought you’d like it,” she said. “More piratey.”

Suddenly, Killian felt like he might cry. “I love it,” he said, his voice coming out raspy. 

“Ugh, Dad, don’t get mushy about it, it’s just a nose ring.” Visibly discomfited by his reaction, she reached for the harness he required her to wear when she climbed up into the rigging of his ship.

“I know, but it’s…” He took a deep breath. “For a long time, I thought you were ashamed of my past. After you learned I’d been a villain, you didn’t seem to want much to do with this old girl anymore,” he said, patting his hand against the mast. “Which I could understand.”

Maureen gave him a stricken look. “No, god, it wasn’t that!” She gestured helplessly, her shoulders rising and falling. “It was just me being a stupid kid, sitting on my ass and playing video games instead of coming outside and doing stuff. Why didn’t you just say something?”

“That’s the thing about self-loathing, darling; you tend to assume that any negative feedback from another person is only what you deserve.”

Maureen raised an eyebrow. “You sound like a therapist.”

“Well, I’ve been spending a good bit of time in therapy lately, so…” He shrugged his shoulders.

She snorted, returning to untangling the harness. “Yeah.” 

“I realized recently that I allowed us to drift apart these last couple of years because I feared you were better off without so much of me in your life.”

He could see a glassiness come into her eyes, lashes fluttering as she blinked back tears. “Well, that’s really stupid, Dad.”

“I know, love. Sometimes your dad can be very stupid.”

She laughed, a little gasped hiccup of a giggle, then she sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand before following his gaze up at the main mast. “Okay, then. Where do you want me to start?”

~*~

Emma clicked her tablet off and set it aside, turning off her bedside lamp. She closed her eyes, wiggling a little as she settled herself against the give of the mattress. Lately, she’d been wondering whether a new mattress would stop that pain in her lower back that she’d been waking up with, but she wasn’t sure if they needed a softer mattress or a firmer one. She rolled from one side over onto the other, shifting again to get comfortable.

“You all right, love?” Killian asked.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No.”

“I’m just having a hard time getting comfortable.”

Killian rolled over onto his back, holding his arm out to her, so she scooted over and snuggled into his side, slinging an arm over his chest. It was a little too warm to fall asleep this way, but it was nice having a cuddle since he was offering.

They settled into silence again. Using the stump of his left arm, he pressed up and down along the curve of her spine, soothing the ache in her back. It struck Emma suddenly to try to remember the point when Killian had gone from merely exposing his amputation to her to touching her with it. Somewhere over the course of all their years together, he’d stopped even thinking about whether she would find that kind of touch unpleasant, and of course she didn’t. She was so accustomed to his lack of a left hand — the way his stump or his hook felt against her skin, the tasks he’d be able to do without aid and the ones he might want her help with — she hadn’t given any real thought to his disability in ages. 

“Do you think Philip would want to run for sheriff when my term is up?” Killian asked.

Emma lifted her head to look at him. “He’s awfully young.”

“My term won’t be up for a couple of years yet.”

“He’ll still be awfully young in a couple of years.”

Killian sighed. “I suppose.”

“You don’t want to be sheriff anymore, do you?” Emma asked.

“I’m content to complete the term for which I was elected.”

“Killian.”

He pinched her arm gently. “I _am_.”

Emma rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, babe. I feel like I must’ve pushed you into doing a job that you didn’t want.”

He was silent for a few moments, not denying her statement, which hurt a little. “I think I enjoyed it before because I was working with you, not because I had any particular passion for law enforcement. So now, I’m… at loose ends, I suppose. I don’t hate it, but I recently realized that don’t get much fulfillment from it.” He rubbed her back again. “And I’m starting to be rather keenly aware of the fact that I have a finite number of years left.”

“Wow, that’s a little morbid,” she said, scratching her nails through his chest hair.

“I just mean I’m pondering what we might do together after my term as sheriff is over. Maureen will be nearly grown, and you and I might think about doing more traveling.”

Emma lifted her head again, this time with a smile growing on her lips.

“An adventure at sea, maybe? You, me, the _Jolly_ , and the open ocean?”

He reached up and slid his index finger down the slope of her nose. “Precisely, my love.”

“We could disappear for months at a time if we wanted to,” she said, warming to the topic. “Hop from tropical island to tropical island—”

“Clothing optional, of course.” Killian’s hand slid down, seeking under her shirt and cupping the side of her breast where it was pressed against his torso.

Emma snorted. “Yeah, that’s not the appealing prospect it once was.”

“Nonsense.” Killian rolled them onto their sides, nuzzling her neck, his warm breath making her shiver. “You’re beautiful.” His mouth came up to meet hers, and she welcomed his kiss. Slow and gentle presses of his lips shifted into something more, deep and wet and searching.

“So you’ll travel the world with me?” he whispered as he lifted her shirt up, mouth descending on her breast. 

“I’d love to,” she said, gasping as he sucked on her nipple. “With how hard you’ve been working, that ship’s going to be in better shape than it was when you got it.” He raised his head, giving her sad smile, and Emma wondered what she’d said to kill the mood. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… keeping busy makes it easier not to think about how badly I want a drink sometimes.”

Emma reached out to cup his cheek, uncertain how to respond. She didn’t think a vague platitude about being strong or taking it one day at a time would be helpful. “I’ll be here with you no matter what, you know that, right?”

He nodded, turning his head to kiss her palm. He seemed to be hesitating over telling her something else so Emma waited, resisting the urge to writhe against him, offering him a physical distraction from his thoughts.

“I called him the other day,” he finally said.

Emma wrinkled her brow. “Called who?”

“The other me. The one from the wish realm.”

Unable to keep the surprise off her face, Emma tried to read her husband’s expression in the dim moonlight. She hadn’t even known Killian had a way to contact his other self, much less that he’d want to.

“He’s been sober for years, and I thought… I don’t know. I thought he could tell me it would get easier.”

Emma continued to stroke his face. “And did he?”

He grimaced. “Not exactly. But it was helpful all the same.”

“I’m glad.” She rose up on the bed so that she could kiss him again. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” he said between kisses, his breath puffing out over her lips.

“Now,” Emma said, lying back down and pulling Killian over her, “what can I do to get this foreplay back on track?”

Killian chuckled, diving in for another kiss.

~*~

“Hey, looking sharp!” David called, ambling across the community center ballroom to join Killian. He appeared every inch the king that he would have been in his home realm.

Killian tried to put his hand in his pocket, but the Enchanted Forest-style breeches were too tight to be able to do such a thing. He looked down at his outfit and grimaced. “I would have preferred something more of the black and leather variety, but Emma insisted on this,” he said, running his hand down the front of his embroidered vest. “Said it reminded her of our adventure in the past all those years ago.”

David gave him a sympathetic smile. “Emma’s with Maureen and Snow, I assume?”

“Aye, and Ella and Lucy.” Henry and his family had been staying with Emma and Killian during their visit to Storybrooke. Killian tried to think of the most diplomatic thing to say about the chaos of hair products and makeup that seemed to have taken over his home. “I was a bit out of my depth with the ladies’ preparations for the ball.”

David just rolled his eyes. “Please. As if you haven’t always been the vainest man I know.”

Killian smirked and leaned closer. “Well, Dave, when you’ve got it…”

“Uh huh, whatever.” David searched the crowd. “Wasn’t Henry riding over with you?”

“He did, but he was waylaid by a group of old friends.”

They stood side by side, watching as Storybrooke’s residents moved around the room, munching on canapes and exclaiming at each others’ appearances in formalwear. A constant stream of people came over to greet them until Killian started to feel like he’d stumbled into an impromptu receiving line somehow.

When the music started to play and most people’s attention was drawn to the dance floor, Killian sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand over his face. “This is just the sort of event that a flask of rum made much more tolerable.”

David put a hand on his back and gestured over to the banquet table. “I know a glass of punch isn’t exactly the same thing, but I’d be happy to get you one.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Just as Dave disappeared into the crowd, Henry appeared out of it and made his way over. “I just heard from Ella — the ladies will be here momentarily.”

“Good.” Killian had been feeling a bit uncomfortable around his stepson since he arrived. He knew Emma had given Henry a head’s up about the fact that Killian wasn’t drinking before Henry and his family arrived in town, but he wasn’t sure exactly what she’d said. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Henry said, his eyes on the entranceway as he spoke. “That night you called me, several weeks ago… the night I thought you sounded sad… was that…?”

“Are you asking if that was related to my drinking problem?” Killian asked, saving Henry from his floundering. “Aye, I was looking for a distraction, something to convince me not to fall back into the bottle.” He stole a quick glance at his stepson. “I wasn’t successful, not that night.”

“I’m sorry, Killian, I wish I had known—”

“Don’t be silly, lad, how could you have known if I refused to tell you?”

“Still.” Henry met his gaze. “I hope you know you can call me anytime, day or night.”

“Thank you,” Killian replied.

“Hey, your daughter was asking me a lot of questions about other realms last night,” Henry continued. “Are you guys planning a trip I don’t know about?”

“No.” Killian was reassured that his daughter was actually talking with her older brother, someone she’d professed to resent, but he worried about her motives. “Although given that she expressed unhappiness with her ordinary, peaceful life recently, I worry what she might be contemplating.”

“Ordinary, peaceful life, huh?” Henry chuckled. “What a nightmare.”

Killian gave him a half-smile. “My daughter says that all the tales of magic and curses are unreal to her. She feels distant from us, like she’s not a part of our world. And I don’t know how to change that.”

Raising an eyebrow, Henry said, “Well, the obvious answer is take her to visit the Enchanted Forest yourself.” He crossed his arms. “How come you never have?”

“Because I want her to be safe. Storybrooke is safe, or at least it has been since the Final Battle. That realm may not be.” He sighed. “And what am I going to show her? The ports where I traded my stolen loot for gold? The taverns that I drank and whored my way through?”

Henry acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. “Okay, well I wouldn’t recommend that, no. But you still might want to consider a trip. You and mom can keep her safe. She deserves to see where she comes from, don’t you think?” He smirked. “And she deserves to experience first hand what living without modern plumbing is like so she’ll appreciate this place more.”

Killian chuckled at that as David rejoined them, carrying cups of punch. 

The music stopped and Snow White stepped up onto the stage, which made Killian whirl around toward the door, looking for his wife and daughter.

“Can I have your attention please?” she said into a microphone, and the din in the room gradually quieted down as everyone turned to face their mayor. Killian stole a look at David, who was looking up at his wife in her elegant ball gown with the same lovestruck expression he’d had for as long as Killian known him.

“First, I wanted to say that the twentieth annual Storybrooke Fair has been the most successful one yet, and it’s due to the tireless efforts of so many of you, so give yourselves a round of applause!” She clapped her hands enthusiastically and everyone followed. Killian spotted his deputy across the room clapping as he leaned over and whispered to the lady on his arm. When Killian caught the man’s eye, he gave Philip a nod of approval. Philip had worked harder than anyone to help implement Snow’s grand vision for this fair. He’d make an excellent Sheriff when the time came. Storybrooke would be in good hands.

“Second, I want to say that you all clean up remarkably well!” Snow said, engendering a laugh from the crowd. “I have to admit, I didn’t just want to have this ball because I love getting dressed up and dancing, although I do.” There was another genuine laugh. Snow certainly knew how to wrap her audience around her finger, Killian thought. 

“One of the things that the first dark curse caused me to miss was a formal debut for my own daughter, Emma.” David had moved over toward the stage, and at this point he joined his wife, taking her hand. “So when it occurred to me that we could introduce our granddaughter at a ball on the occasion of her fifteenth birthday, I couldn’t pass up the chance.

“Now, I’m sure Maureen doesn’t want me to stand up here and talk about how intelligent she is, or how talented, or how beautiful and kind-hearted, so I won’t say any of that. Nor will I say how much I’m enjoying watching her blossoming into a young woman who has great things in her future. Instead let me just introduce our princess, Maureen Swan-Jones!”

Snow gestured to the back of the room as the music started up again, and first he saw Emma, Ella, and Lucy come through the doorway. Emma wore a pale yellow gown that he’d caught a glimpse of as she’d brought it into the house a few weeks ago, but she’d quickly spirited it into a spare closet, scolding him for peeking at it. The beaded neckline accentuated her delicate collarbones, and Killian found himself impatient to dance with his wife, to put his hand on her waist and to breath in the scent of her skin.

Then his daughter appeared, and all thoughts of Emma momentarily fled his mind.

Her hair was close to the natural dark brown color that they shared, but with streaks of purple (which it turned out she hadn’t been joking about) woven through the brown. It was swept up on top of her head, and he thought he could make out sparking glitter in it as well.

The gown she wore matched the deep purple in her hair. With its simple lines dropping straight to the floor, it never would have been mistaken for a ball gown from his realm, but it was striking all the same. A memory arose in his mind suddenly, of the time Snow had given Maureen a little dress-up princess gown as a gift. Maureen must have been around seven years old, and while she had happily put the gown on, within an hour she’d ended up covered in mud, the costume entirely ruined.

With pink cheeks and what Killian could tell was a mostly fake smile, Maureen walked the path that her mother and sister-in-law had cleared toward the stage, where she greeted her grandparents with hugs and kisses on cheeks. As Killian watched Maureen, Emma slipped up beside him and took his hand.

“She looks good, right?” his wife whispered.

“Aye.” He swallowed. “I can’t believe she’s my daughter.”

Emma grinned. “I think those were your first words when you held her at the hospital.” The music changed, and Emma let go of his hand and gave him a push on the shoulder. “Go on; this dance is for you, Dad.”

He took a couple of steps and then turned back to Emma. “You’ll leave room for me on your dance card later?”

Emma winked. “Count on it, sailor.”

Killian made his way to the dance floor, where he met Maureen and held out his hook for her to hold. Her hand trembled slightly, but she took the dancing position she had reluctantly practiced with him in the days leading up to the ball. 

“This is excruciating,” she murmured as he began to lead her around the dance floor. 

“I know, love. Just a few more minutes and the worst of it will be over.” He could feel her start to step wrong, but his strong leading movements kept them with the rhythm of the music. “You look beautiful.”

“Ugh, don’t.”

“And I’m not just saying that because I’m your dad. You are beautiful.”

She grimaced. “I actually don’t hate the way my hair ended up. And the dress is okay.”

“I think your grandfather expected you to show up in a pantsuit.”

Maureen rolled her eyes. “He knows we aren’t all butch, right?”

“Well, in his defense, you’ve never been a particularly girly girl.”

His daughter shrugged, a hint of a smile on her face. “I figured I’d give it a try and see what it was like.”

“And?”

“My feet hurt and this lipstick tastes gross.”

Killian laughed. “I’m sorry, love.”

They made a quiet circuit around the room, and Killian watched his daughter’s gaze dart from place to place. He could feel the tension in her shoulders, no doubt a reaction to so many eyes being on her.

“Why did no one want to play cards with the pirate?” he said.

Maureen blinked, turning her attention to him. “What?”

“I said, why did no one want to play cards with the pirate?”

“Dad, no.”

“Because he was standing on the deck.”

She groaned, but she also relaxed a little bit. 

“Why is pirating so addictive?”

“ _Dad._ ” She almost laughed, covering it with an exaggerated furrow of her brow.

“Because once ye lose yer first hand, _ye get hooked_!” he replied in an exaggerated accent, jiggling her hand with the hook she was gripping. 

“Oh my god.” This time she couldn’t stop herself from laughing, her eyes twinkling under the lights.

“I love you, my girl,” he said, giving her a wide smile. “Thank you for dancing with me.” 

“Love you too, Dad.”

Killian continued to twirl his daughter around the dance floor, surrounded by friends and family, and he let the happiness of the moment settle into his heart. 

Once, long ago, he’d defined his happy ending as being with Emma, and he had focused entirely on making himself into her perfect partner, regardless of his own identity. Then he became a father to Maureen, and the definition of his happy ending shifted. But even then, it hadn’t been about him, not really. He’d once told Maureen, cuddling her on his lap while she asked uncomfortable questions about the story of how he died, that Zeus must’ve brought him back to life because he’d needed to bring Maureen into the world. But that hadn’t been just comforting words for a distressed child; he’d believed it, because why else would a god care if a blackguard like himself lived or died? It was for Emma. It was for Maureen. Never for himself.

His happy ending was never an ending, nor was it the beginning of unending happiness as he’d once naively hoped. It was this, it was moments like this. Moments like tomorrow, when he’d be back at work on his ship with his family by his side. The burdens he carried would never truly be gone, but he had people to help shoulder them, and that made them bearable. And right now, in this community center dressed up to look like a ballroom, with this wonderful, awkward, fiery girl on the cusp of womanhood in his arms, he could finally accept that maybe he deserved this life. That the happiness he felt was earned, and that it belonged to him.


End file.
